


Shattered Chains

by icinks



Series: Homeward [2]
Category: Aldnoah.Zero (Anime)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Suicidal Thoughts, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-19
Updated: 2015-12-05
Packaged: 2018-04-05 03:10:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 45,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4163418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icinks/pseuds/icinks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A sequel to "Homeward."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Third

Slaine straightened his back, shading his eyes from the glaring sun with his hand. It was nearly midday and getting rather hot, unusually so for September. He wiped the sweat from his chin with his shirt and began putting away the garden tools.

The cooler air indoors felt good on his skin. Even though he had come to hate the summer heat - he could not abide the suffocating feeling it gave him - he couldn't bring himself to stay away from the garden for very long. Each morning he ended up wandering back out to that familiar place, carefully watering herbs and gingerly pulling weeds as butterflies flitted from flower to flower. And every week he clipped a small bunch of fresh blooms for the kitchen table. Well, really they were for Yuki.

As was routine, he trudged to the refrigerator for a cold glass of water. Inaho always emphasized hydration, something that was never an issue for him before coming to this place of infernal heat. Mars only looked hot - in reality, it was bitterly cold. Not that water was very abundant on that planet.

"You forgot sunscreen again, didn't you?" said a voice behind him.

Another routine, it would seem. He was always forgetting sun protection, and his skin color was firm proof of that. He was a little too tan for someone of his features, but it didn't bother him. Yet Inaho seemed to care, for whatever reason.

"Hey, look at me," said Inaho, reaching a hand towards his face.

Having grown used to the random fussing by now, Slaine stood still as the other ran a thumb over his cheek. "What is it now?" he asked, without particularly expecting an answer.

"Ah, it was just dirt.”  Inaho cleaned his finger on Slaine's shirt.

"Hey!"

"You're already filthy. Go wash up, I'll make lunch."

When Slaine returned to the kitchen, Inaho was on the phone.

"Already? Can't you help her? Mhm… you know, there are tutors in the student center," he heaved a sigh, "... true. Alright, I'll see what I can do. Ok… yes, I know… yes, I will… bye."  The phone was dropped back into his pocket and he looked up as Slaine approached.  "Sorry, a friend needs help with some homework tonight… constantly suggesting alternate locations for meeting up with people is a bit too suspicious."

Slaine shrugged. "It's fine, I'll read."

Most evenings he read. His mind was alive with the new information he absorbed daily, all from books Inaho brought him from the library. He could probably teach college-level ecology by now.

But most evenings he read with Inaho. They shared the livingroom sofa, or one of their bedrooms, or, on cooler evenings, the garden. The university student taught him subjects that were less decipherable on his own, like mathematics and Inaho's personal favorite, physics. He was a poor teacher, but Slaine caught on quickly anyway. Not that he could use his knowledge for much, but he enjoyed it and Inaho encouraged him to continue. However, now that university courses had begun once again, Inaho was around much less often. He came home sometimes for lunch, though usually there was no sign of him until dinner. After such an indulgent summer of nearly constant company, Slaine couldn't help feeling lonely during the sudden long periods of solitude and separation from one of his only companions. Yuki, too, had returned to work after her long medical leave. She was still not allowed much physical work, but the rest she could do. There was no stopping her, anyway. Perhaps she was slow getting out of bed in the morning, but the woman hated sitting still for very long. Thus Slaine had resumed his solitary weekdays.

That evening he curled up on his bed with Victor Hugo's Les Miserables. It wasn't often that he picked up a novel, but Inaho had mentioned that some works of fiction were actually political and social commentaries. Somehow, he was interested in that. Politics were no longer any of his concern, but some small part of him still wanted to contribute to the betterment of society. Maybe reading about it in a fictional setting would somehow substitute for the real thing.

It was a little hard to concentrate, because the walls were thin and he could hear every word Inaho and his guest were saying. It was a girl, and by the sound of it she was not very enthusiastic about his tutoring.

"I don't get it," she said for maybe the fifth time in three minutes.

He could almost hear the internal sighs Inaho was no doubt succumbing to. "These integers here become part of the second function…"

"What integers?"

"These three."

Slaine stifled a laugh. Inaho really wasn't very good at explaining things. Most geniuses weren't; his father had never made any sense, either. The girl seemed more confused now than when they had started.

"I'm going to the bathroom," she said with mild irritation. It was a step up from her former apathy.

Slaine was just beginning to enjoy the brief peace and quiet that followed, which allowed him to finally wrap his mind around the literary gibberish he was reading, when with no warning at all the door flew open.

For a moment they simply stared at one another, both too shocked for any reaction at all. Then the girl's surprised expression eased into narrowed eyes and a frown. She seemed to recognize him, though he had never seen her before. That wasn't unexpected, though. It had happened with Yuki, too.

"What are you doing here," she said in a lethal tone.

As he sat up, he could see her stiffen in a cautious way, inching back slightly. Her hand gripped the doorknob and she looked ready to pounce if necessary.

"I thought you were going to the bathroom." Inaho appeared behind her, looking less than pleased.

She jumped somewhat and turned to face him, short auburn waves bouncing with the movement.  "What's going on?" she demanded.

Slaine set his book down and stood up. Well this was something he hadn't thought about… what would happen if someone unauthorized discovered he was alive? Inaho probably knew the answer to that question, but it couldn't be good. Of course, they wouldn't silence a civilian, but there must be a lot of procedure for her to go through now. Interviews, background checks, paperwork, signatures, oaths… all because he had forgotten to lock the door. Would Inaho be mad at him?  He seemed a little irritated, but not angry. There was no telling with that face of his.  Slaine wondered who she was and why she had decided to open the door. Maybe she was unfamiliar with the house and mistook it for the bathroom.

Inaho took a deep breath, rubbing his temples tiredly. "Why did you come in here..." It was more a sigh than a question.

"I wanted to get something. You didn't answer my question, Inaho. What is he doing here?"

Slaine listened quietly, still trying to place her relationship to Inaho.  The way she spoke to him indicated that either her personality was simply bold or she was a very close friend. Perhaps it was both.

Inaho did not dodge her question again. "Slaine is living here now. He has been for the past six months."

The girl stared at him. She almost looked betrayed.

"Why don't we go downstairs and get some tea while I explain the situation."

* * *

When they were seated at the kitchen table, Inaho began: "I suppose I should start with introductions… Slaine, this is my friend Rayet. Rayet, I'm sure you're aware, but this is my friend Slaine."

"Friend?" Rayet gripped her teacup with unnecessary force as she looked from one to the other.

Inaho went on to explain Slaine's situation and the relevant points of the past several months. Rayet listened sullenly. Her purple eyes were fixed on Slaine the entire time, every bit of her gaze filled with distrust.

"You know, he's not Martian," Inaho mentioned, noting her death glare.

"He might as well be."

Inaho ran his finger along the rim of his cup. "Rayet, do you know who killed Baron Trillram?"

"That Martian scum who betrayed and murdered my father? No, but I wish it had been me."

As much as she seemed to hate him, too, Slaine couldn't help but like this girl. There was something about her that he couldn't quite put his finger on.

"It was Slaine," Inaho said easily as he sipped his tea. "Anyway, I'm not saying you need to get along, but please keep in mind that people change, Rayet. You of all people should know that."

She turned her gaze to the far wall and clicked her tongue.  Slaine almost gave the same response as he listened to Inaho toss his few remaining secrets out to random people. Sure, tell the angry girl all about his first murder. Like that was sure to foster good relations...

Inaho pushed back his chair. "We'll deal with the UFE tomorrow.  They don't really need to know about this right away. Are you ready to try those equations again?"

"No way. I'm going home."

"You'll fail if you keep skipping your homework."

She pressed her forehead to the table in miserable resignation. "Fine."

Slaine watched them get up and clear their cups. "If it's mathematics," he said without really thinking, "I can help you."

Both of them looked at him in silence, equally surprised at his sudden offer.

"That guy is useless as a teacher…" he added with half a smile.

Inaho opened his mouth as if to speak, but closed it again, apparently having nothing to say to that comment.  This girl seemed vehemently against the idea, but Inaho's mention of failure fueled her desperation. "Yeah, ok," she said moodily, walking past him without even a glance.

Upstairs in Inaho's room, Slaine looked over her chaotic class notes. Most of it was nonsense, probably copied incorrectly from the board. The book was much more promising. After gaining his bearings, he let out a long breath and then began. This was not really all that difficult once a few key concepts were understood, but getting past that initial hurdle was tricky.  He started writing out a sample problem. "If you start here, it's much easier later. Don't skip this next step."

Rayet looked closer at the paper. "He didn't show me that step."

"Because he skips it. If you know what you're doing you can do that part in your head and move on, but for you it's easier to write it out so you can see what you're doing."

As Slaine carefully explained and worked her through each type of problem, the information clicked and she was able to solve them. In little over two hours she had completed every question in the homework assignment. Inaho checked her answers with a speed that mocked her hard effort – but they were all correct.

"My head hurts," she complained, though she was clearly pleased with herself, "Want to play something?" She dug in her bag and pulled out a thin disc case.

"I thought you wanted to go home. And if you studied sometimes instead of playing video games, you'd have better grades, Rayet," said Inaho without bothering to look up from his book.

She shot him a glare. "I like doing what I'm good at. You're the one who coerced me into taking these damn classes in the first place, you should be satisfied that I haven't dropped out yet."

Slaine watched them silently. She very obviously wanted him to praise her, but Inaho would never catch that hint, disguised as it was in aggression. He almost felt bad for her.

Setting his book aside, Inaho took the game disc from her and read the cover. "Hey, this might actually be a really good idea…" he mumbled, glancing up at Slaine.

She reached for it impatiently, "just put it in already."

Slaine was wondering what kind of game this was exactly when he found a strange device being placed in his hands.

"Have you ever done a flight simulation?" Inaho asked him.

An odd question. Wasn't this a game they were going to play? Flight simulations hardly seemed relevant.  "Once or twice, yes," he replied warily.

"This is like that.  These buttons let you move and shoot," he pointed to the device, "it's a bit simplified but the effect is the same."

Rayet cracked her knuckles and picked up a second controller. "It's the newest version, I just got it today." She seemed to have revived from her earlier misery, eyes aflame as she watched the screen in anticipation. The openly hostile vibe she had initially displayed towards him also seemed to have eased noticeably.

Inaho had a small TV in his room, but Slaine had never actually seen it on. He probably only used it when friends were over, which rarely happened. Maybe Inaho had been more social before his arrival.  After receiving a hasty explanation of how to play, the game started and Slaine promptly died.


	2. Threat

"I thought you were a pilot," said Rayet as she restarted the game.

Slaine had already used up all of his lives before they had really even gotten to play.

"I am! I was…" he looked sourly at the screen, "but this isn't piloting."

"Sure it is."

After a few more failed attempts, Inaho spoke up. "You know," he said from his spot on the bed where he was watching them, "the last person to use that controller was Nina."

Rayet looked over her shoulder at him. "Why didn't you say something sooner?!" She took it from Slaine's hands and began pressing buttons. A settings menu came up on the screen and she quickly adjusted several of them. "Here, it should be usable now," she said as she handed it back to him, "if she's going to change everything up she should at least change it back for the next person."

"Nina's used to piloting large crafts, the standard settings are probably too sensitive for her."

When they started playing again, it was like an entirely different game. Though he had had so much difficulty before, those failed attempts had served as practice for his fingers to adapt to the small, limited controls. The craft responded perfectly to his hands, and suddenly it felt like he was really a pilot again. It was nostalgic, bittersweet. He loved flying, but it also brought back many unpleasant memories.

As they swooped through the virtual sky, floating amongst clouds and down close to the ocean, he found himself smiling.

"Watch your left," said Rayet, her words soon followed by a shower of ammo from that direction.

He had already seen it, dropping altitude in an instant. As realistic as this game was, he did miss the feel of moving with the craft as it climbed and descended and turned.

After evading the offensive craft, he moved his fingers quickly in attempt to recreate a turn he would normally do in this situation. It worked without a hitch, and he took out the enemy with a few quick shots.

The screen froze.

"What did you just do?" asked Rayet, staring at his hands.

"I… I don't know, just what I normally do, I guess."

"Show me."

Inaho leaned over the edge of the bed. "I told you he's a better pilot than me."

Slaine felt his cheeks warm. Was he really? He was fairly certain there was not a single thing he was better at than Inaho. Except teaching, that is.  And anyway, while a very good imitation, this was still not nearly as complex as really flying.

Regardless, the praise was a little late – he was no longer a pilot, and he never would be one again. This game was the closest to flying he would get for the rest of his life. It was fun, at least, and there was no risk of dying. When he had begun counting these small blessings he didn't know, but it was a pleasant habit to have acquired. Life seemed a little less bleak when he could recognize its good points, few as they were.

After playing for another hour or so, Rayet packed up her things and went home.

* * *

_Snip… snip…_

Slaine carefully clipped pink roses from the bush at the corner of the garden, laying each one gently in the basket hooked over his arm.

"Do you give people flowers before you kill them?" came a voice from the direction of the back gate.  Rayet was leaning on a fence post watching him.

How long she had been there, he knew not. He only glanced at her for a moment before returning to his work.  "No, not usually," he responded lightly as he clipped through another stem.

She appeared to have returned to her hostile, cautious attitude towards him. He should have known teaching her and playing games with her would not be enough to gain her trust. He heard her unlatch the gate and enter the garden. The back yard was not normally accessible without going through the house or trespassing in a neighbor's property. The only other way in was through the wooded area at the back.  He wasn’t really sure where that led, or what was on the other side of it, but he assumed it must have been where she came from.

Petals fell into the grass as he pruned away wilted blooms. "Inaho won't be home for a few hours," he said as she approached.

"Actually… I…" Rayet trailed off. She was now standing next to him, arms crossed. He waited for her to finish, but it soon became apparent that she wasn't going to.

If it was him she came to see, there were only three things she could want. To threaten him, play video games with him, or –

"You want me to tutor you again?"

She stared sullenly at a tree, her silence answering for her.

Slaine stood up and brushed off his knees. "You haven't really given me a reason to do anything for you."

Even after all this time, he was still accustomed to some form of hierarchy. Where he stood with this girl was still a mystery, and without meaning to he was already slipping easily into old habits in an effort to establish the manner of their relationship.  In the past, grasping at any advantage he possessed was all he could do to hold his own against others.

"There isn't one," she answered, "I just need to pass this class. Not that it matters to you, but I really can't ask anyone else."

He thought of offering her a rose since there were so many, but she probably would have snubbed it. "Really? With your charming personality I'd think you must have dozens of friends who could help you," he said, placing the last rose into his basket.

Her eye twitched but otherwise her expression remained the same. "More than you, anyway," she replied coolly, "But they're all too busy."

 _Liar_ , he thought. That may have been partly true, but there was definitely another reason. He didn't particularly care to know what it was, though, so he wouldn't ask. In any case, he was done provoking her – if they kept it up, he'd end up on the losing end since he knew far less about her than she did about him. He did owe her for the game, though he wasn't going to bring that up. And there was one other reason he had no plans to refuse her request.

"Since you're apparently someone Inaho cares about," he said, putting away the pruning shears, "I'll teach you as much as you need."

* * *

"We're not supposed to have 'unmonitored encounters', you know," said Slaine as he thumbed through her textbook.

After their first meeting about a week earlier, Rayet had been subjected to a number of investigative measures by the UFE, though in the end there wasn't much anyone could do about it, anyway. The lengths the UFE went to in order to protect Slaine seemed almost excessive, but it was probably because of their promise to Vers of his safety. Not to mention their recent failure with the kidnapping incident.

Rayet glanced up from her homework. "I don't really care about that. Their rules don't make any sense anyway."

Actually, this one sort of did, but he wasn't going to press the issue. It didn't bother him. However, if something were to go wrong, regardless of who was threatened he would be the one paying for it. If they were unable to eliminate a potential danger, they would simply remove him from harm's way. Which, for him, meant back to prison.   It was unlikely Inaho would allow that, though. His stubbornness and resourcefulness made him a strong ally.

They were about halfway through Rayet's problem set when she set down her pencil and leaned back against the bed. "Who even uses this shit," she groused under her breath.

"Inaho." The name slipped out of his mouth before he even thought about it.

She rolled her eyes. "I meant besides computers."

Slaine nearly spat out his drink. "He's not a computer anymore, you know."

"Oh, you mean the eye? Honestly I never noticed much of a difference whether he had it or not. He still spits out numbers like a machine. His personality is just as vague, he never tells you what he's up to, and he's a complete idiot," her words were harsh, but she was smiling.

It was strange talking about Inaho with someone other than Yuki. He was the only thing they had in common, or at least they hadn't found anything else to talk about. Except maybe her videogame, but there wasn't much to say about that, since Slaine didn't know anything about videogames in general. And though their conversation had taken a lighter turn, there was still a very thick wall between them. He could easily tell that she resented the things he had done, she didn't trust him, and if he laid one finger on the Kaizukas, she would kill him. It was simple, and it was fair – so much so, that it did not even merit being said. He wouldn't trust him, either.

Just as he began to explain the next type of problem, the door opened and Inaho stuck his head in. He was about to say something but appeared to change course when he laid eyes on Rayet. "Oh… I didn't know you were here, Rayet."

"Don't you knock?" her eyes flashed at him, but not unkindly.

"He never knocks," said Slaine.

"He knocked when I lived here."

Before they could continue, Inaho changed the subject, "is a hotpot okay for dinner?"

"What? No way," Slaine protested, "it's an oven out there. Let's just order a pizza."

Sometimes when Inaho wasn't home for dinner, Yuki would get a pizza for the two of them. It had quickly became a favorite, not that any Terran food had yet disappointed him.

Inaho leaned his head against the door frame. "That's expensive and unhealthy. I'll go see what we have in the…"

The rest of the words were tuned out as Slaine's attention drifted to Inaho's appearance. He seemed extraordinarily tired and maybe even in pain.

"Hey… are you ok?" he asked just as the other was turning to leave.

Inaho glanced over his shoulder. "I'm fine."

"No, he's right," Rayet countered, "you don't look so good."

"It's just a headache. Really, I'm fine."

Slaine continued to watch him suspiciously. He let it slide. They would talk about it later, after Rayet was gone. If there really was something wrong, Inaho would tell him in private. Perhaps not voluntarily, but Slaine would drag it out of him regardless.

* * *

"Thanks for helping Rayet," said Inaho as he moved a black pawn forward. It was now late evening and Rayet had gone home a few hours before. They had almost forgone the pizza when Yuki arrived and offered to pay for it. "She's kind of rough around the edges, but she's a nice person."

"Yeah, I noticed that. I'm glad I can be of use," he added, a bit quieter. His bishop slid to the edge of the board. "Besides, she's really not that bad at it. She just doesn't have any confidence."

"I'd believe that. Inko says she aces her writing classes, but she never talks about those. Not to me, anyway."

The room grew quiet as they turned their attention back to the board.

"It  _ is _ your turn, right?" Slaine asked after several minutes had passed. They had barely started the game and Inaho was taking an unusually long time to make his move.

Inaho blinked a few times, then leaned forward and moved his knight, up and over.  Slaine stared at the board. Was that a trap? Or was it… a mistake.  It had to be part of his strategy. Inaho did not make mistakes, not ever. Not in chess, anyway.

Just a few minutes later Slaine had cornered the black king. The game was over in record time and Slaine had won. It wasn't strategy, after all – it was a mistake. A lot of mistakes.   There were firsts for everything, but something was off about it. He recalled the episode earlier that day when Inaho had looked unwell.

"Is your headache better?" he asked, probing the issue indirectly at first.  The fact that Inaho supposedly opened up to him more than anyone else didn't mean he offered the information freely. Slaine still had to pull it out of him with questions and prompting.

Inaho pressed his palms to his forehead. "No, not really. It's worse, I think."

"Worse? Haven't you taken anything for it?"

"It doesn't help."

_ Doesn't.  _ Slaine chewed his bottom lip. He was observant, but Inaho was equally good at hiding things. Now that he was beginning to wear down, his words were less careful. "So how long has this been going on, then?"

However long it had been, it was frightening. Whenever Inaho started showing signs of something being wrong, things were already bad. He repeated to himself that it was just a simple headache, just a simple headache…

"A few weeks. I've already gotten it checked out, but the results aren't in yet. If it's nothing, there would have been no reason to tell you two."

If it was bad enough for him to get it checked out on his own initiative, it was probably not 'nothing'. Then again, as someone with a history of traumatic brain injury and invasive experimentation, Inaho was probably more aware of his potential risk symptoms than most people would be.

"Supposing it's something," Slaine began, not really wanting to continue with this conversation, "do you know what it could be?"

Inaho wilted in his chair, no longer needing to keep up appearances now that the secret was out. "Ah, well…"


	3. Tire

"Long-term effects of traumatic brain injury?!" Slaine slammed his palms against the table, causing some of the chess pieces to fall.

The noise elicited a wince from Inaho and he put a hand over his ear. "Delayed complications can surface at any time. Even injuries as minor as a concussion can cause memory loss and other symptoms decades after the original trauma occurred. The other possibility, though unlikely, could be a result of extended exposure to high frequency signals in close proximity to brain tissue."

"So, brain-dead or cancer?" Maybe if he put out the worst-case scenarios, the news would have to be good.

"That's a little overly negative. Honestly, I don't think headaches alone are anything to worry about."

"You're also not sleeping well," Slaine pointed out, "and I assumed it was because of the new classes, but you take longer on your homework, too."

"How do you even-"

"You're one of the only two people in my life, I notice everything. Except, apparently, when you're dying."

Inaho glanced up at him. "I'm not dying. Don't jump to conclusions."

Chess pieces scattered as Slaine leaned forward and crossed his arms on the table. "You'd better not be. I'd kill you myself."

"That's a sure sign I'll live. You're not very good at killing me."

No, he was only good at maiming him.

"Look at us," said Inaho with just a hint of a cynical smile, "We shouldn't have this many scars at 19."

"I'm actually almost 21," replied Slaine. He rolled a pawn between his thumb and index finger.

"What?"

Slaine dropped the pawn. "Did you even read my records?"

"I skimmed them, your age wasn't all that important at the time. I just assumed you were younger than me."

"Younger?! Why would you assume that?" There was a long pause. "Alright, I might act like a child but I'm definitely older than you."

"Either way, we're falling apart far too early."

We? Slaine was pretty sure the only one falling apart here was Inaho. But then, some scars were not physical. And those could tear you apart far more easily than any battle wound.  He let out a long exhale. "You know, you could just get a regular prosthetic eye. It doesn't have to be an artificial intelligence that eats your brain."

"What, you don't like the hole?"

Slaine could almost hear him saying 'you put it there, so you get to look at it.' But those words never came. They probably never would.

That was the precise reason he didn't want to see it – it was a gruesome reminder of how little he deserved this life. A privilege he didn't want. And it was a privilege, because Slaine was the only one that was ever allowed to see it. He could not remember a single instance when Inaho did not wear the eyepatch even around Yuki. She was probably the last person he wanted to see such an ugly vestige of the time she almost lost him.

"I'd get another ocular implant but I'm not really up for any more surgeries right now," continued Inaho, "The first one was a bit of a mess to remove so they couldn't replace it until the area had time to recover."

Slaine would have liked to see both eyes again - he had never really gotten a good look at the pair of them up close. And he had never seen anyone else with eyes that color. What a waste.  Though -  "The eye patch does look pretty good."

Inaho touched it lightly with his fingertips, "The prosthetic was more comfortable."

"I'm not entirely sure what it feels like to have a machine appropriate part of my brain, but I imagine 'comfortable' is rather too generous a word for it." He lowered his head into his arms. "Does it… still hurt… ?

"Sometimes, yes," was the blunt reply.

Slaine sighed audibly. Sometimes was still too often.

A finger lightly flicked his forehead. "Stop worrying about it. We should go to bed, it's getting late."

* * *

When Inaho returned from the bathroom, there was a large bump under the blanket at the far side of his bed.

"What are you doing? Go sleep in your own bed."

Slaine peeked out at him. "You sleep better with me."

"It's the opposite…" Inaho protested weakly, leaning against the edge of the bed. His head hurt too much to put up a decent fight. Seeing Slaine was going nowhere, he sighed, turned off the light, and climbed in.

"Though, last time Miss Yuki said I must tire you out, so maybe not…" Slaine pondered aloud in the dark, suddenly wondering if maybe he should leave after all. He didn't want to make things worse.

"What? She said that to you? Honestly, that woman..."

"Hm?" hummed Slaine, a little confused at Inaho's reaction.

"She definitely thinks we're doing it…" Inaho mumbled into his pillow.

"Doing what?"

"Nothing. You really are a child. Go to sleep."

* * *

Slaine's eyes opened slowly. Darkness still shrouded the room, but something had woken him. He felt the bed move.

"Are you still awake?" he whispered softly. A glance at the clock told him it was half-past two in the morning. They had gone to bed three hours ago.

"Go to sleep," replied the other, his back turned to Slaine.  He didn't even sound drowsy. It was possible he had never even fallen asleep.

"Not until you do." Daring words when he felt he might doze off again at any moment. "Is your headache bothering you that much?"

"No."

"Are you tired?"

"Yes."

Silence fell over the room again.  Tired as he was, Slaine felt he was beginning to understand what was going on. This was something he knew about pretty well. It didn't make sense to ask Inaho to talk about it; it was probably something he didn't care to discuss, not at this hour. But regardless of how much Inaho was resisting sleep and whatever disagreeable things it held for him, it would only make matters worse in the long run. Slaine knew this from experience.

Still half-awake, he scooted closer to Inaho.

"What are you-"

"Just close your eyes. I'm right here."

He had meant to stay awake until he heard the regular rhythm of Inaho's sleeping breaths, but the next thing he knew there was light streaming through the seam of the curtains. The fine mist of sweat on his brow was his first indicator that Inaho was still in the bed, and he was about to throw back the blanket to let in some cool air when he noticed the arm curled around him.  Inaho was breathing softly against his back, one arm hooked over his side. Thin fingers gripped his shirt.  Slaine lay very still. This was… new.

It seemed Inaho had finally managed to sleep well, so he wouldn't disturb him. He couldn't see the clock from where he was, but it was probably late. He half expected Yuki to come bang on the door, frantically saying how late they both were through a mouth full of toothpaste, but then he remembered it was the weekend. Maybe she was still sleeping, too.

It had to have been at least an hour before he felt Inaho stir. The hand loosed its grip on his shirt as Inaho lifted himself up on one elbow. Slaine rolled to face him.

"About time you let go of me," he said with half a grin, looking up at the other and then down at the hand still resting on his chest.

It was the first time he had seen Inaho look embarrassed. Though it was barely even noticeable, it was definitely there in the slight press of his lips, the softly arched eyebrows, and the faint pink at his cheeks. That expression, along with his unruly bed hair, was almost cute. Slaine stifled a laugh as Inaho dropped face-first into a pillow.

"What time is it…" he asked, his voice muffled.

Slaine sat up. "Uhh…" he squinted at the clock, "it's half past ten…"

Inaho bolted upright. "What?!"

"Calm down, it's a Saturday. Anyway, did you sleep well?"

"Mhm…." he replied drowsily, rubbing his eye. He looked like he wanted to go back to sleep.

"There's no need to get up," Slaine encouraged, "nothing's planned today." It would be good if he could get a few more hours in. Who knows how long it had been since he had had a solid night's sleep. Probably far too long, knowing Inaho.

The boy eased back under the blanket. "Just a few more minutes…"

* * *

Days passed and Inaho seemed to be getting alternately worse and better. Despite consistent rejection, Slaine began keeping him company nearly every night. It was the only way Inaho would sleep.

Slaine waited impatiently for the doctor's results to come in. If this was some kind of neurological issue, he desperately hoped there was a cure. Thankfully, Inaho seemed only to have trouble at night. But it was affecting his days, making him lethargic, irritable, and even forgetful. Three things that were strange to see in someone like him. He was more detached, too, and sometimes outright avoided them.

Obviously, it was not long before Yuki noticed.

"Is everything alright, Nao?" she asked at the dinner table one evening.

Inaho glanced up from his plate, "yes."

"You wouldn't lie to your sister, right?" her fingers curled around her water glass as she leaned forward to look him in the eye.

He hesitated, just a fraction too long. "No."

"Then tell me what it is. Come on, out with it!"

There was a long pause as he seemed to consider his answer.  "Yuki, I didn't want to tell you until I was sure," he started slowly, "but I've just gotten test results back, so I guess this is a good time."

"Tests?! Nao, what's going on?"

"There's nothing physically wrong, so you can relax. Everything came back fine."

Yuki's brow furrowed. "Physically? Then it's…"

"Stress, most likely. I've had some pretty important things going on at work lately, it's probably from that."

Slaine and Yuki glanced at each other. Inaho? Stressed? Something didn't feel right.

"You two are so obviously suspicious," he sighed, "I'll show you the doctor's results if that will make you believe me."

"No, no, I believe you," said Yuki hastily. "Just… please take care of yourself, okay? If it's that stressful, maybe you should drop a class?"

Inaho leaned back in his chair. "I've thought of that, but since my courses are sequential, it would set me behind for graduation."

She pressed her lips together in a frown. "Nao.  Your health is more important."

"It's just for a little while. Things will settle out soon enough."

* * *

"You know, I didn't expect psychology to be this interesting," said Slaine one evening from behind a large textbook. He had a small notebook beside him where he kept interesting facts and their references stowed. It was research for personal entertainment, but at least writing things down made him feel more accomplished.

Inaho glanced up from the lab report he was working on. "I suppose it has some appeal," he said blandly before returning to his work.

"Did you know there are people with multiple personalities? And they don't necessarily even know about it."

Inaho nodded vaguely, his pencil tapping idly on his note paper as he stared at his laptop screen.

"You'd tell me if I had another personality, right?" Slaine questioned.

Inaho dropped the pencil and turned around. "You do realize this is due tomorrow?" he pointed to his report.

"Ah, sorry…"

About half an hour passed in silence, and then - "hey, look at this." Slaine held up the textbook and pointed to the open page.

There was a pause as Inaho, slightly aggravated, leaned over and glanced at the words. "Post traumatic stress disorder? What about it?"

"I'm no psychologist but don't you think you ought to get checked out for this?"

"I don't have time for therapy. I'm fine."

"But you do think it's possible that this could be your… you know… ?" He wasn't about to say 'problem'. He had already been getting enough irritated looks from Inaho lately. Which was weird considering how, for the longest time, he had thought Inaho incapable of most expressions.

"Most likely. I've already considered it."

Slaine closed the book with snap. "What? Why didn't you say anything?"

He was a fairly good liar when the situation called for it, but Inaho's ability to obscure the truth without actually lying was a different skill entirely. It was harder to recognize, too. 'Stress' he had told them... it was an understatement, but still true.

"Like I said, I don't have time."

Slaine frowned. "Well you'll really be out of time when you fall apart and can't put yourself back together. Take it from someone who's been to the bottom, there's nothing down there but misery and the allure of death."

"I've dealt with this before. It'll run its course."

In other words, ' _I'm not like you.'_ Slaine's expression darkened. "What if it doesn't?"

"It will."

"How do you know that?"

"Because it has to," there was an edge to his voice, "Now please leave me alone."

Slaine clicked his tongue.  "You're so stubborn."

So much for Inaho listening to him. Despite what Yuki said, when it really came down to it his opinion probably wasn't all that significant. Well, he'd keep an eye on Inaho anyway. A very close eye.


	4. Torrent

"You've never had chocolate before?" Yuki seemed nothing short of appalled.

She had brought him a small box of the sweet from the store, along with the groceries she'd purchased. Typically, Inaho did the Sunday afternoon shopping, which was perhaps why there had never before been chocolate amongst the carefully selected and discounted foodstuffs, but this week he was busy with exam revision. Yuki had taken the opportunity to splurge a little… well, a lot, actually. There was ice cream, packaged cakes, and several bags of chips, along with some rather pricey ingredients. Normally Inaho would have commented on the extravagance sprawled all over the kitchen counter, but he was too preoccupied with his textbook to give criticism to the grocery bill.

Slaine licked his fingers. "I've read about it but I'd never actually tasted it till now."

"Good, huh?" Yuki grinned. "I should have brought you some earlier! I don't know why I didn't think of it."

"You should be careful giving him new foods, Yuki," perhaps Inaho was not as absorbed with his work as he'd seemed, "If he had an anaphylactic reaction it would be difficult to get him medical aid in time."

Her mouth curved into a pout. “But nobody's allergic to chocolate."

"Even if that were true, it's often produced in facilities that also process nuts, which are a common allergen." It was like him to have already thought of everything, when he wasn't even part of the conversation.

"I guess you're right, it's possible, but that's being a bit paranoid don't you think?"

There was a soft flap as he turned the page, "… who knows."

Meanwhile, Slaine was swiftly looking up the brand of chocolate online, suddenly interested in their variety of other tasty products. There was no problem getting things like this, so long as Yuki was the one he asked. Vers provided him with a small stipend each month, but as it was impossible for him to spend it himself, it simply sat in his account. Which was actually Inaho's secondary account, since a dead person couldn't deposit money at the bank. Sometimes he thought about what to do with it. In a few years it would be quite the nest egg, but he had no future to save it for.

He meant to close the webpage he was on but hit the back button instead, opening the previous application.

"Get off my phone, Slaine," the statement was almost a sigh, "You're not supposed to use-"

"When were you planning to tell us about this?" Slaine turned the screen towards him. There was an email pulled up, from an unknown sender. It contained only two lines –

_"Morita released yesterday. Remain vigilant."_

Inaho shot him a displeased look. "What are you doing?!" he demanded, reaching out to swipe the phone from him.

Yuki, who happened to be between them as she set a bowl of fresh fruit on the table, snatched it first. There was a pause as she read it, and then in a lowered voice, "Why would they let him go? I don't understand… he's the one who tried to have Slaine killed, he's the one who collaborated with that, that… who tried to -"

"I know," Inaho interrupted her, almost irritably, "Please don't elaborate, Yuki."

Her brow furrowed. "Nao, what's going on?"

As the silence spread between them, Slaine looked from one to the other. Though Inaho may have been under the delusion that she believed his "stress" excuse, Slaine knew better. Yuki was not stupid, nor was she oblivious. Especially not when it came to her brother. But Inaho was an adult now, and if the past several years had taught her nothing else, it had shown her that confronting him head-on was never a successful approach. Quietly supporting him in the midst of his perilous decisions was a more effective way of watching over him.

Still, old habits die hard.

"Nao?" she repeated, after a minute or two had passed with no response, "Is everything alright?"

Inaho closed his eye and breathed a weary sigh of resignation.

"I'm not entirely sure myself. It's why I didn't mention this."

It wasn't entirely what she had meant, but at least he had answered.

"But… what do they mean by 'vigilant'?"

"I… don't know. Whoever sent this has to be a high enough member of the UFE to know about the incident. For them to send this anonymously means their hands are tied and they are afraid of being discovered. Someone else is behind all this, and they'll be trying again. That is, if this is even legitimate. Though I don't see why it wouldn't be. It's elaborate for a joke, though a bluff is possible. But that wouldn't accomplish anything…" he trailed off, sinking into thought once more.

"You think he'll arrange something else to hurt Slaine?" Yuki went straight to the main point.

And Slaine sighed internally. It made sense that people would want to kill him, and that didn't particularly bother him, but he hated to drag the Kaizukas into it. This was becoming an issue. If he was going to be targeted for the rest of his life, was it really worth endangering them, too?

"It's likely," replied Inaho, not mincing his words. Not that he ever did. "If he went through all that before, there's no reason he wouldn't try it again. Though as long as Slaine is on this property, there's not much anyone can do to hurt him."

There would be nothing to worry about, if that were true. Somehow he didn't buy it.

Yuki dropped into a chair and set an elbow on the table. "That's true. Wouldn't they provide some sort of safety measure for him if you mentioned there's a possibility he might be in danger? You wouldn't have to specify who was the threat, right?"

"All they would do is take him back to prison. That's honestly the safest place for him, and the UFE couldn’t care less about what he wants. He can't be transferred to another facility, but he can be returned to his original location at any time. That much they are allowed to do. It would take months, if not years to get him back, with Seylum so far away now."

"What about you, Nao? What if…"

"I'm not his target. Or, at least, I shouldn't be. I'm aware that I also have enemies, but I'm not sure they'd risk working together a second time. You at least should be safe, Yuki."

"Ah, ye-"

"Though, now that I think about it, you should still be careful. Don't stay out late, or go places without people around… come straight home after work, don't leave for lunch, travel with someone else, d-"

"H-hey! That’s too much!"

While the siblings discussed, Slaine stared at the table, his eyes boring into the polished wood. For some reason, he was feeling a bit angry. It had been three weeks since Inaho found out about this, and yet he had remained silent. He was already struggling enough, he didn't need this in addition. Slaine wondered what happened to that openness they had shared. Whether by his own fault or something else, the trust Inaho had once had in him was slipping away and he felt alienated again. It hurt, and it made him angry. What was he doing here if he was just another liability?

"Well? What are we going to do?" he heard Yuki ask, a new weariness in her voice and in the line of her eyes.

He hated that expression. Unlike her brother, Yuki was animated and most of her emotions were quite visible. It was painful to see her worried or unhappy. He briefly wondered how many times Inaho had put that look on her face. He was to blame, as well, in more ways than one, but a brother was supposed to be the one who set her at ease. Instead, it was likely that she had been anxiously supporting him for years. Probably as he recklessly 'protected' her and others, without any regard for her emotional state. But Inaho didn't know much about emotions in general, whether his own or other people's. That much had become clear.

He watched Inaho lean his head forward into his hand, rocking his head gently from side to side and pressing small circles at his temples. Another headache…?

"I… don't know… sorry…" he said quietly.

Slaine slid into the chair opposite him, joining the other two at the table. "Why are you apologizing?" he asked, "It's not your job to take care of us."

"It is, actually."

Yuki crossed her arms. "Nao, he's right. You're already too stressed, you're doing too much. We'll help, so you don't have to worry about this by yourself."

Even if they really couldn't do much, simply knowing was helpful. Slaine well knew that secrets were heavy burdens to carry. They made you feel truly alone, even while surrounded by friends.

"And," Yuki continued, "I've been meaning to say this but... I'd like you to see Dr. Yagarai. Please..."

There was a long pause, and then Inaho picked up his pencil. "I need to study."

* * *

Slaine woke to a quiet noise nearby. For a moment, he doubted he had heard anything at all, but then he saw the faint outline of Inaho's shadow sitting up next to him. Normally he would have continued soundly sleeping, but he was somehow becoming a lighter sleeper lately. In a textbook somewhere he had read that mothers grew more alert to sounds in the night in response to their offspring's needs, and wondered if a similar phenomenon was happening to him. He wasn't Inaho's mother, though.

Lately it wasn't unusual for Inaho to wake up like this in the middle of the night. Actually, it happened most nights. But typically he simply rolled over and went back to sleep once he realized where he was and who was beside him. Occasionally he'd call out and sit up, as though waking from a nightmare. But this time he simply sat, silently, for several minutes.

"Inaho?" he said the name barely above a whisper.

Receiving no response, Slaine gave his shoulder a gentle tap, wondering if maybe he had somehow fallen back asleep sitting up.

Inaho jumped at the touch and his head turned. Slaine barely had time to react as he felt fingers close around his neck and slam him down against the mattress. He flailed in a panic, pulling futilely at the arms bearing down on him. His own strength had not yet caught up.

"I... Ina..." he choked out, unable to vocalize anything more or risk wasting what little air he was still able to inhale.  He couldn't understand what was happening. It was a dream – it had to be a nightmare.

But he was not waking up from it. Instead, he felt a rush of terror as he realized that this could really be the end.  With the ringing in his ears and his throbbing pulse slowing against immovable fingers, it felt like he was already dying.

Just has he had stopped struggling – it was only expending precious oxygen – the fingers loosened and pulled away.

"S…Slaine?"

He couldn't answer yet. Air took priority. But as he gasped and panted, he saw a frightened eye looking down at him. And then he understood.

"W…" at last he could speak, though it was more like a croak, "were you… asleep?"

Receiving no response, Slaine groped for the lamp switch. It was too dark.

"I… don't know…" came the eventual answer, in a trembling voice he did not recognize. Inaho shielded his face with his hands as the light was turned on.

"Are you okay?" It seemed a stupid thing to ask in this situation, even more so for him to be the one asking it, but Inaho really looked shaken up. He was fairly traumatized himself. A little more force and regardless of whether he’d lived or died, he’d likely have wound up with some real damage. There would be bruises tomorrow.

To his surprise, Inaho shook his head. "I… I'm sorry. I don't know what happened. You shouldn't... stay here..."

"It's ok, I'm fine," he assured him, trying not to rub his neck.  Not that Inaho was looking, anyway. His hands were still hiding his face, and it was not hard to guess why.  "I think you're starting to become like me," Slaine added with a woeful smile as he gently pulled at the other's wrists, revealing damp cheeks.

He didn't know what it was that Inaho had seen or dreamt, or why he was crying just now, but one thing was clear. This had gotten far worse than he had realized, and it was not going to resolve on its own, no matter how much Inaho might insist that it would.  Slaine drew the other's head down against his shoulder. "Go on, you need it."

There was a brief pause, and then a sharp intake of breath as sobs began to take their course.  It was beyond strange seeing him this way; Inaho was not at all himself right now. Or, perhaps, he was more himself than he'd ever been before. Either way, this version of him would be gone by morning.

Inaho cried so quietly, that if it were not for the feel of hitched breaths against his chest and the dampness growing on the fabric of his shirt, he would not have noticed there were tears at all.  "I don't want… to…" Slaine could barely hear him, "I don’t wan… to see it… anymore…"

He thought of saying something reassuring, but there were no words that would do any good. Instead he wrapped his arms around Inaho.  If only he could erase whatever it was that plagued his mind. But even if he could do that, fixing other people's problems wasn't exactly something he excelled at.  He could only hope that tonight, at least, Inaho would let this out. Crying never really solved anything, but it helped. It definitely helped.

His hand had found its way to the soft brown hair beneath his chin. Slowly, gently, he ran his fingers through it. When tears threatened his own eyes, he tried to blink them back, but they came anyway.

It was a long time before the sobs slowed, and fingers loosed their desperate grip on his shirt. Inaho seemed to go limp against his chest as he released a long, shaky breath.

"I'll," his whisper was nearly lost in Slaine's shirt, "tomorrow I'll make an appointment..."


	5. Thought

"Is there something wrong?" Slaine looked down at him, elbows over his head as he tied his hair back with an elastic band.

Inaho was watching him silently from under a pile of blankets. He frowned as Slaine sat down at the edge of the mattress, a hint of worry in his expression. Of course he would guess what was wrong, he always did. There was something nerve wracking and yet comforting about living with a person as attuned to the human nature as Slaine. He should have been used to it from Yuki, who always seemed to be onto him, but he wasn't. Most people couldn't read him, they complained he was too enigmatic and impassive, trying to figure him out like some kind of puzzle and ultimately giving up. And he liked it that way.

Slaine sighed just a bit, touching his neck lightly. "She'll only worry if you don't tell her. I can, if you want."

No, this was his fault, he should take responsibility. He was still upset with himself for allowing such a thing to happen at all. If only he had listened to Slaine in the first place and given it the proper priority. He had never imagined that he would react physically to a dream like that. Night terrors were, well, terrifying, but so long as they were just phantoms of the night there was no real harm in them. Now he had to think about what he might do in his sleep, or worse – in that limbo between dream and reality, where everything got extra confusing.

It was odd how his brain rejected some traumatic memories, locking them away in some unused place, and then chose to replay others relentlessly. He could not remember the feel of a bullet through his eye, but he saw vividly the color of Asseylum's blood, that final look of terror on Okisuke's face, and nearly every other horror he had witnessed in his life. Important bits often vanished from the cinema of his dreams, causing even more awful confusion. Was Yuki shot, or was he? Was it her leg or her chest? Whichever was worse, his dreams seemed to choose it without fail. They even invented things he was fairly certain had never actually occurred. The mind was a strange place. It was turning on him now, twisting memories into illusive reality, like some vision of hell.

Conveniently enough, he had now forgotten what it was he believed he was choking to death the night before. Of course he'd forget that, when he remembered everything else. He did remember being angry and afraid that something terrible would happen. Maybe he had been protecting someone. That would be incredibly ironic.

"Are you feeling up to your exam this afternoon?" asked Slaine. That's right, he was still there. "You can probably reschedule it, right?"

"I'd rather not," he responded drowsily. Lack of sleep was really catching up with him. At the moment, nothing sounded better than lying in bed for the rest of the day. But rescheduling an exam was a real pain. He would have to give a proper explanation, perhaps even obtain a doctor's note. It would be easier to go take it and come straight home afterwards.

Right now, he would stay put and ignore his morning classes. All his life he had been an early riser, punctual, orderly, and systematic. Logic was the powerhouse of a life free of avoidable problems, and it provided control and comfort to face the remaining ones. But this current chaos he was living stripped him of that. Holding his life together like this was, he was quickly discovering, far out of his league.

Part of the reason he rarely expressed his emotions, aside from not feeling them very often or very intensely to begin with, was because he really had no idea what to do with them. They were illogical and fit nowhere into his understanding of himself and the world around him. Their practical value was next to zero, and thus he had chosen to do away with them as best he could. When they did appear in force, as on the rare occasion they did, once they were loose there was little he could do about them. There was probably nothing he disliked more than his personal life being out of his control.

Then again, there were certainly times he'd acted purely on feeling, or what he preferred to think of as 'instinct'. Really, it was an instinctive emotional response. Either way, they had somehow been easier to rationalize when he thought of them as catalysts for sensible courses of action, such as ensuring the safety of Asseylum, or making reckless decisions to protect someone. That was when his emotions could be put to good use. But what was the point of fearing something that didn't exist, of crying over something that could not be changed, of getting angry when calm rationalization would accomplish far more? He had abandoned such useless sentiments so long ago that he could hardly remember them.

Last night had been the most intensely he had felt in a long time. Fear, grief, guilt, and a slew of other things he couldn't even describe. All equally useless and uncomfortable, serving no purpose other than to plague him. Thankfully it had all dulled significantly since then, he felt renewed somewhat by the morning light and the lazy, comfortable atmosphere of his own bedroom in its daytime transformation. And then there was Slaine, who had become an unlikely, rare ray of light even in the depths of the night. Slaine, who refused to leave his side. Admittedly, it was a bit concerning – that avid devotion of his had not served him well in the past – but he couldn't say he didn't like it. Even now, he was there, watching him with that concerned look in his oceanic eyes.

While embraces didn't particularly bother him, it had been quite a while since he'd actually craved one. It was a strange feeling. The soothing sensation of those warm arms wrapped snugly around him still lingered, though it had been hours since they’d withdrawn. Slaine was so close right now, he could easily reach out and pull him down beside him. He wanted to.

Instead, he lay still, looking regretfully at the pale purple marks just below Slaine’s chin. Even if he had given in, and dragged Slaine into his arms, Slaine would probably only turn red and try to push him away now that the atmosphere had changed. While Slaine’s physical weakness was admittedly a bit endearing, he was now realizing the danger of it. If there was a repeat of last night's episode, there was no telling what could happen. Slaine needed to be able to defend himself, at least a little. There was no point in worrying about an outside attack when the most immediate threat was right next to him.

His eye followed Slaine as he stood up and began looking about the room for something.  "Under the chair," he directed, spotting the shirt from his lower vantage point.

Slaine had been getting perhaps a bit too comfortable in his room. Their clothes were starting to get mixed up. Not that they didn't already in the laundry, which Slaine now took care of for the both of them. Frankly, it was nice having someone to help with the chores. It freed him up to study and work and take care of other things, and gave Yuki more time to relax. But as their relationship got increasingly casual, Slaine was becoming noticeably messier. Had he intimidated him that much when he arrived? It's not like he actually would have sent him back to prison for leaving his clothes on the floor. The thought was a bit humorous.

As Slaine crawled under the chair, Inaho's brow furrowed just a bit. He never got used to seeing those scars. It was hard to imagine how anyone could do that sort of thing to another person, especially a teenager. Though Slaine had only mentioned one incident, he had noticed some of the lines were more faded than others. They were not all from the same event, and that thought was disconcerting. That was another reason last night was nothing to brush off. He would never forgive himself if he had dredged up any unpleasant memories for Slaine. Would he recoil from his touch after this? It would only be natural.

Slaine pulled on his shirt. "I'm going to make breakfast. Anything you want?"

"An… omelet… I guess."

An amused smile crossed Slaine's lips. It was what he ate nearly every morning, but breakfast was such a mundane meal, before a day of mundane work, that it only made sense to eat the same mundane thing over and over again. Besides, they were easy to make, economical, and filling. Slaine had rather less appreciation for the omelet, however. He was starting to get more selective as he realized that some foods tasted better to him than others.

Nevertheless, Slaine made a pretty good omelet. Obviously it was the direct result of proper training, which he had seen to at the first budding of Slaine's interest in cooking several months ago. As with everything, Slaine had excelled quickly.

"But," he added, "just wait a second, I'll come with you."

He hauled himself out of bed as he spoke, fighting the intense desire to never leave contact with his pillow again. If a sigh were an expression, it was the one on Slaine's face at that moment.

"You don't need to get up," he said with obvious disapproval, and a look of worry that made him feel strangely guilty.

"I need to talk to Yuki." There was a lot he should tell her.

A moment later he was walking towards the door and Slaine.

"Hey, hold on," he grabbed Slaine's sleeve as he reached for the doorknob.

"Hm?"

There was one thing that had been bothering him for a while now. As Slaine halted in front of the door, he reached up and pulled the elastic from his hair. "It was messy," he explained briefly, "Here, turn around. I'll do it."

Slaine should really learn how to put it up neatly on his own, but then it was not really his fault it was so long. Inaho couldn't bring himself to cut it. Since it was hardly ever exposed to the elements and seldom required the damaging vigor of a comb, it was incredibly soft and healthy. The feathery strands fell just past his shoulders.

Slaine crouched a bit as Inaho smoothed it into a ponytail, soft locks sifting through his fingers.

"I'm not _that_ short," muttered Inaho. There were only six centimeters between them, and the difference wasn't all that much, in his opinion. "There." The elastic snapped against a neat little tuft. It kind of resembled a bird's tail. He felt himself smiling just a bit. It really was cute.

"What are you grinning at," grumbled Slaine, cheeks reddening under a suspicious stare. Inaho had never met someone so blushy in his life, he turned pink at nearly any provocation.

As they left the room, he felt a bit relieved. Slaine had not shied away from his touch just then. But he still wondered whether he would begin staying in his own bed after this. Even though he'd protested their recent sleeping arrangement, it was something he'd come to rely on. The only thing that got him through most nights was the soft lull of breathing nearby and the warm limbs that inevitably invaded his personal space. Annoying as they had once been, they were welcome comforts now. Anxiety settled in his chest like a rock at the prospect of being alone at night once more. More than that, he really couldn't bear the thought of Slaine being afraid of him. But perhaps it was for the best.

* * *

When Inaho had departed for his exam, Slaine found himself wandering out to the garden. He was not outside long before Rayet appeared at the back gate. It was Monday, after all, and her math class was on Tuesdays. There was the usual click of the latch and creak of the hinges, and then she was standing over him, looking down as he pulled weeds from the garden bed.

"You read Jules Verne?" she asked, picking up a book that was laying in the grass. She never bothered with proper greetings.

And he never bothered to look up from his work when she appeared unannounced. "I've only read three of his works," was his short reply. His fingers tugged at a clump of weeds.

"This one is my least favorite."

"Not a fan of the sea?"

He heard her softly flip the pages. "The sea is fine, it's the endless descriptions of fish that put me to sleep."

"True, it is a little excessive," he admitted, "But it's pretty incredible that this guy was writing about these things before they were even possible."

Her eyes lit up as she turned the book over in her hands. "Tell me about it. Sometimes I wonder if he was somehow connected to Aldnoah. I mean, he even wrote a book called 'From the Earth to the Moon.' Pretty suspicious to me."

"Oh, I read that. Inaho wouldn't let up about how the calculations were off and the mechanics were unrealistic. Apparently the fact that it was written in 1865 is no excuse for an incomplete understanding of astrophysics in a work of fiction."

Rayet rolled her eyes. "Sounds like him."

"Anyway, I'm guessing you're not here to discuss literature…"

Her face fell. "Yeah, no… there's this test coming up. I think I've got the first chapters down but the –"

Slaine's gaze wandered behind her. Something was off, but nothing was out of place.

"Hey, are you listening to me?" Rayet waved a hand in front of his eyes. She was about to say something else when Slaine caught a brief glint of sunlight in his peripheral vision. He sprung to his feet and shoved her aside, sending them tumbling to the ground together.

"Hey! What the h-" she stopped short as tiny drops of blood splashed against her face.

Slaine gave another ragged cough, a trickle of red appearing at his mouth as he swayed and collapsed beside her.

"Slaine? Hey, Slaine...?!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After this chapter, I'm no longer transferring from FFn, since this is as far as I've written. I'll be updating simultaneously from this point on ~


	6. Trigger

White and blue. It was the first thing Slaine noticed when his eyelids fluttered open, taking in his surroundings. For a little while there were no thoughts in his mind, he simply stared in front of him in a daze. He was lying down, arms limp by his sides, and one of them was covered in something warm. A downward glance revealed brown hair and a fringe of lashes gently brushing soft cheeks. One hand, nearly covered in a sweater sleeve that was too long, rested securely over his own. He recognized this person… he was familiar, but he couldn't quite remember where he had seen him before. Everything was still a haze.

He looked towards the far wall, and his eyes settled on a window. It was day – perhaps early morning, by the way the light came in. But the thing that caught his attention was the bars across it. Words flitted through his mind. White… blue… bars…

He heard the steady beep of the machine beside him speed up just a little, in sync with his own heart. The memory still escaped him, but those things brought ugly feelings. It was much more pleasant to look at the person sleeping at his side. The subtle, even rise and fall of his shoulders with each breath was calming.

"He's awake!" he heard the hushed voice of someone nearby. There was the sound of shuffling feet and then a woman in a white uniform appeared. She gazed down at him. "Good morning," she chirped, her voice almost shrill, "How do you feel? Are you in any pain?" She checked his vitals and adjusted his IV drip.

Honestly, he wasn't sure. He didn't feel much of anything. There was a soreness in his back, though, and breathing was a little difficult. He opened his mouth to speak but found he didn't have the energy for it. His throat was sore.

"No need to push yourself," said the nurse, a generic smile at her lips, "I'll ask again in a little while. Just press the call button any time and someone will come to check on you."

A moment later she was gone, and he drifted back to sleep. And then there was someone else. He wasn't sure how much later it was, but it could not have been long given the morning light that still flowed through the barred window. Round eyes appeared before him as she crouched by his bedside.

"Look who's awake!" she said softly, with a bright smile. That smile was so familiar. Just as the boy was familiar. He couldn't place them, but they belonged, he was sure of that.

For a little while he simply looked at her, his eyelids wandered open and closed at irregular intervals. Then the woman pulled up a chair and sat down beside him.

The expression on her face was calm and gentle, but she fidgeted as though she was nervous somehow. He wondered why. Would she answer his questions?

"Where… am I?" he ventured, finding speech was still difficult. His throat hurt when he tried to swallow away the scratchy feeling.

At his words, her eyes clouded just a bit and she tucked a long strand of chestnut hair behind her ear. "You've been hurt, Slaine-kun. But the people here are helping you recover. You've just had surgery, so you should rest."

Surgery? She had evaded his question, but he was distracted in trying to remember what had happened before now. Hurt? How, and when? As he shifted a bit in his bed, adjusting to a more comfortable position, the soreness was quickly replaced with a jolt of pain. All at once, it returned to him.

He had been shot.

* * *

After tackling the confused Rayet, he'd felt the searing pain of a bullet in his back. It must have punctured his lung because it quickly became incredibly hard to breathe, and coughing only produced a shower of red. In the past, he had often wondered what a bullet felt like. More so recently around Inaho and Yuki, as both of them had tasted what lay at the other end of the barrel. He had fired so many in his lifetime, yet not once had he felt the receiving end. Three seconds was enough to satisfy any curiosity.

The pain was excruciating, radiating throughout his entire back. Breathing hurt, moving hurt, everything hurt. Instead of screaming, he lay in agonized shock.

To his own surprise, his first thought was of how much he didn't want to die. Not because anyone needed him, though he was sure that for the moment, at least, Inaho did. It wasn't because of Asseylum either, or anything of that nature. He simply wanted to live. More than he ever had, just for the sake of existing. The irony of being shot now, just when he had come to this conclusion, seemed to follow the usual cruel pattern of his wretched life. But if this was how he was to die, he'd at least protect Inaho's friend. No, at this point she was his friend. Whether she hated him or not, he couldn't think of her as a stranger anymore. Not even as an acquaintance. Over the weeks that they had spent together, afternoons pouring over problem sets, hours of videogames, heated literary debates on the livingroom sofa, even frantically scrubbing drink stains out of Inaho's bedroom carpet, he had really come to like her.

Time was slipping away. He needed to think while he was still conscious. Rayet could still be in danger.

A glance at her was enough to tell him that she probably more shocked than he was. It had happened so completely unexpectedly. This wasn't a war, it was a private garden. It _should_ be safe.

"H-…" his hollow whisper halted abruptly as he felt the effects of using his lungs. He bit back the pain, "… is he… still… there."

Her eyes locked on his and she swallowed, shaking off her speechlessness. "Ah... um… someone ran away... through the trees," she squinted to look through the bars of the back gate to confirm. As the situation came into focus, her mind seemed to clear. She sat up and dug in her pocket for her phone. The emergency number was nearly dialed when Slaine weakly grasped her wrist.

"I don't… exist," he rasped. "I'm… already dead." He absolutely could not go to a hospital, so there was no point in calling an ambulance. Even if they did overlook his identity long enough to save his life, he would simply have to forfeit it anyway, or risk public outrage and possible political struggles between the worlds Asseylum and Inaho had worked so hard to free from strife. His death was the linchpin of that peace, as it should be. And now he would bleed out quietly, just as he was supposed to have two years ago. Still… these past eight months had really been worth it.

Each cough brought more blood than the time before, and a crimson pool was gathering in the grass at his side. Through his fading vision he saw her downturned lips, and the storm in her violet eyes.

"No, you're not!" she countered. For a moment he thought she must have misunderstood him. "You're not dead. Even if it's only to Yuki-san, and that stupid genius, and… me… you're alive. To us, you're alive! So don't you dare die."

He stared up at her through the black spots that danced across his vision. That's right. He had decided he wanted to live. His world was tiny, and it probably wouldn't get any bigger. He had no future, he had no purpose, he had never had either of those, but despite that, he had finally found the thing he wanted to live for. This was his home, these were the people he cared about, and the only way to be here with them was to stay alive. He would survive this, he had to.

It was not long before he could hardly concentrate on anything other than the pain and the sensation of drowning in his own blood, but there was one word that repeated itself in his head. He reached feebly for the emergency button on his anklet.

"I... na... ho..."

* * *

As the memory came crashing back, Slaine suddenly felt himself panicking. He looked down at his chest, half expecting blood and gaping holes. But there was just a small tube connected to him. Was the end of it inside him? He wanted to pull it out, but just then the woman started talking again.

"It's alright, Slaine-kun, you're going to be fine," she attempted to calm him. He saw her glance a few times at the nurse call button, as if debating whether it was necessary to call someone in. Instead, she leaned closer and gently touched his arm. "Have you remembered?"

Yes, he remembered everything. He also remembered that this person was Yuki. She wasn't just familiar, she was one of the few people left who truly cared about him.

He nodded silently, though his eyes were still scanning his body for damage and foreign attachments. She took his hand as he lifted it to look at the IV connected there, gently laying it back down.

"They've removed the bullet, so you can rest easy," she said, "in a few weeks you'll patch up nicely!"

Those words did calm him a great deal. His mind shifted to other matters.

"Is she alright?" he asked, deciding to ignore the tube and IV and everything else stuck all over him for the time being. She wasn't going to let him touch them anyway. He took an offered glass of water gratefully.

"Ah, Rayet? She's fine, no need to worry about her."

He relaxed back into his pillows, handing back the cup. Good. For once he had managed to protect someone before they got hurt. Or... had he? He had reacted so quickly at the time that he had hardly given a second thought to why someone was even shooting, but now that he considered the situation more fully, the bullet had probably been meant for him anyway. He hadn't really protected her after all. If anything, he had exposed her to more danger by bringing the shooter's aim closer to her.

His downcast eyes settled once more on the person sleeping at his other side. Coffee colored strands of hair fell into his face as he stirred softly, but did not wake up. Slaine watched him silently.

Ah, yes.

This person was Inaho.

"Has he… ?" he trailed off, too tired to finish the sentence. She would understand what he meant to ask.

"Ah, Nao-kun… he's been here for a few hours. He won't be waking up for a while, I'm sure. They've given him some medication, so he's a bit tired right now."

Slaine's eyes turned to her in surprise. "Medication?"

She chewed the inside of her lip, probably realizing too late that she had just said more than she should have. "You should focus on your own recovery, Slaine-kun," she evaded him, "there's no need to worry about anything right now."

Slaine frowned. He couldn't help but worry if he didn't know what had happened. Why was Inaho being medicated? Had he been hurt, too? She was definitely hiding something, he could see it in her eyes and the subtle movement of her fingers. "Please tell me… Yuki-san."

Her eyes softened as she noted the concern in his voice and expression and she gave his arm a gentle squeeze. "He's been overdoing it lately, and having some trouble sleepi-"

"You don't need to lie, Yuki-san," he interrupted her, though not harshly. No, perhaps his words were a little too harsh. He wasn't in the right state of mind for delicate conversation - even this much was taxing him. But this partial knowledge would not let him rest. He had a feeling he knew what was going on, but he wanted the full story.

He watched her as the silence between them stretched on. Yuki seemed to wilt rapidly, as though she had been carrying a great weight until now and was only just able to put it down. The cheerfulness disappeared from her expression and a hidden anxiety surfaced.

"He… um," she started slowly, mulling over her words carefully, "When he arrived to help you, he remembered some things."

Slaine gave her a quizzical look. Remembered?

"You see, he'd actually forgotten what happened that day. He knew it happened, of course, but somewhere along the line his mind had, well... blocked out the memory of the actual event. Maybe he never remembered it. But when he saw you and... all that blood... he..." her voice lowered, and he could feel her hand tighten on his arm, "he remembered."

For just a moment he thought she might cry, but then she straightened in her chair, cleared her throat, and added lightly, "Thank goodness Rayet was there, she called me in time to get you here before it was too late. I happened to be near home, too."

The pain of this particular subject was dulled by his concern for Yuki, who seemed eager to avoid speaking of it further. As much as he would have liked to know the details, for now this was enough. He swallowed the pang of realization that he was both the subject of a horrific memory and the trigger for recalling it, and gently asked, "How is he now?"

"Still pretty shaken up. The medication is keeping him stable, though. Dr. Yagarai believes he's suffering from delayed onset post traumatic stress disorder. I guess he's been living with it for a while now, but that last... memory set him over the edge. The panic attack wouldn't stop, he kept thinking he was dying... I've... I've never seen him like that..."

Now she really looked as though she would cry. He would have offered comforting words but there was really nothing for him to say. Especially not him. He half expected to see the old resentment in her eyes again, but her hand had not left his arm. In any case, there was another thing pressing on his mind.

"Will… will he be alright seeing me again?" All this time he had assumed Inaho would remember something as significant as being shot in the face, but now discovering that he'd only just recalled the sensation of imminent death, it was strangely unsettling. Surely he'd only trigger that memory again and again from here on out if he stuck around. Not that he'd be going back home any time soon, anyway, if ever. He was pretty sure this was the prison medical facility, and now that he had nearly died in the outside world, there was little chance of him leaving his cage again. If he had once been a player in the political game, he had now become a game piece. Moreover, his only remaining value was in his presence on the board. Not very unlike the king in chess.

"Well..." Yuki began with concerning hesitation, "Nao-kun asked to come, he's been right there most of the night. Once he calmed down and stabilized, and saw you cleaned up and breathing, he seemed much more relaxed and dozed right off."

That was a relief, but even so Slaine felt uneasy. It was quite possible his medication had simply kicked in and was preventing any major reactions at the time. What would happen later on? There were still many questions he wanted answered. Exhaustion began to wear at him, however, and soon all of these things drifted away as he joined Inaho in blissful sleep.


	7. Tear

_Tick. Tick. Tick._

Why exactly they put large analogue clocks in prominent locations for patients to see, especially in a prison, he would never understand. Following the minute hand in its leisurely circuit was, for someone to whom time was already seemingly endless, maddening at best. During his own lengthy hospital stay he had requested the thing be taken down under the pretext that the sound bothered him. He glanced up at the dingy white offender that hung above the window. Right now it was nine at night. The sedatives had finally begun to wear off, and he felt alert enough to sit up at least. He wondered just how long he'd been sleeping in that chair, sprawled over the edge of Slaine's hospital bed, grasping a thin hand in his own.

He vaguely remembered coming here. Yuki had pulled him along through a labyrinth of vacant halls, and then questioned him multiple times about whether he really wanted to go in through that door, and if he wouldn't rather wait a few days. At the time, he hadn't exactly been lucid enough to make that sort of decision, but still he had made it. He had probably been stubborn about it, and it was probably a very stupid idea.

Drugged up as he was, seeing Slaine was something of a surreal experience. Nothing had registered, and yet somehow it had, in a mess of confused, dulled feelings. He couldn't exactly remember, but he had fallen asleep nearly as soon as he had sat down, and there had been something he was going to say before he dozed off so unceremoniously. Not that it mattered, since Slaine had been unconscious and wouldn't have heard a word of it. How ridiculous. It was probably a good thing the words had never left his delirious tongue, they were likely some kind of nonsense.

What had happened before that was not hazy at all. It was without a doubt one of the worst feelings he had ever experienced in his life. Panic was a natural response to some situations, it even had its benefits from time to time, but this had been ridiculously excessive. He would almost rather actually be shot again than go through that a second time. For what seemed like an eternity he had been positive that he was actually dying, or going to very soon. He could even hear the ringing in his ears, and felt a sharp pain in the eye that no longer existed. With that caliber of damage, thought processes normally shut off. This was not a memory he was supposed to have. Apparently he had been conscious longer than he thought.

He knew enough about this kind of thing to realize that it had all been triggered by an unfortunate coincidence of circumstances and emotions and graphic visuals resembling or reminding of a former traumatic experience. It was a bit distorted – last time it had been Asseylum on the ground, but it had only been moments after that he himself had been shot by Slaine. That time he had spaced out after Yuki was shot, perhaps it was his mind's first attempt at placing where he had seen that scenario before. Thank goodness he had been spared the panic attack that time. Still, this one had hit him out of nowhere, with crippling repercussions. He did not want a repeat, but what exactly would trigger one? Was it just blood and a bullet wound? Or was it also… Slaine?

Inaho didn't dare look at him. Not at his face, at least. The anxiety was already rising just at the remembrance of the previous afternoon.

He slumped forward. Since when had he become such a baby. Though, if he was honest with himself, he'd find that he had never really been all that brave. If anything, it was his own fear that had driven him through most situations in the past several years. The thought of losing more of the people dear to him was unbearable. Fear was no stranger to him, not really. But he didn't want it to be associated in any way with Slaine.

"You don't have to look at me."

He started at the sudden voice, and almost looked up out of habit. "What?"

A stupid response. They both knew what Slaine meant. It was a little mortifying, but with a silent thanks he kept his focus elsewhere. "Did Yuki-nee go home?" he asked, staring vacantly into his lap.

"No. If you like... I'll call the nurse and she can take you to her."

Slaine's words were soft. Too soft. As though he was the one who had been injured, and Slaine was at his hospital bedside. He seemed exceedingly tired, though. Inaho wondered if he was really going to be alright. He had lost so much blood, no thanks to him, and if Yuki had shown up any later, Slaine would have died. For the second time now, he had been useless at a crucial moment.

"No, there's… no need," he muttered vaguely. He did want to see Yuki. There was a small part of him that wanted to wail in her arms just as he had long, long ago, when his young mind had finally understood what it was to be an orphan. That was the last time he had exposed, practically ejected the full spectrum of his heart's contents. Until recently, that is, when he had quite literally poured them out once again into Slaine's shoulder.

Nothing had changed, really. Their relationship should have gone unaltered. It was not as though he hadn't known what Slaine had done to him, but for the first time he actually cared. The memory seemed to have dredged up feelings he had no idea he'd been suppressing. Why? Why had things unfolded that way? It was a question he had never dared to seriously ask himself, or Slaine for that matter. Perhaps he had always been too scared of finding out the answer.

"Why..." the rest of the sentence was lost in his sleeve.

"Pardon?" asked Slaine, obviously confused.

It was a golden opportunity to let it go, to not ask again. But the question would not leave him alone. He wanted to know, he needed to know, this anxiety wouldn't leave him if he didn't know. It would hurt them both, most likely, but at this point that didn't really matter. They had a habit of hurting each other, and thus there would probably always be some obstacle between them. In any case, he was far too weary to weigh options and make any logical decisions. He asked it again.

"Why did you shoot me?"

By the silence that followed, he guessed that Slaine was either too shocked to answer or trying not to cry. There was a good chance it was both. He hated himself a little for having asked it at such a time, especially when he was too cowardly to even look Slaine in the eye.

The answer came faster than he had expected. It was short, clear, and surprisingly direct.

"Because I hated you."

* * *

It was more complicated than that, but he had neither the desire nor the energy to elaborate. He had never expected Inaho to ask him that question. Had he intended to, surely he would have asked it long ago. And aside from assuming that, after all this time, Inaho had in some measure forgiven him, he had supposed that he must have already guessed the answer. Now that a clear, verbal explanation was requested – nay, required (for this was Inaho) – he had absolutely no idea what to say. To have missed Inaho's true feelings all this time was a grave blunder on his part. He may have asked for Slaine to stay on Earth with him, but at that time Inaho had been subconsciously avoiding thinking about, to the point of suppressing the memory of, the whole incident in Russia. Now that it was consuming him, there was bound to be at least some resentment. And that would only grow with Slaine's brutally honest response.

Even if he had expected this topic to come up at some point and taken time to prepare himself, it was something he never wanted to say aloud. Not to Inaho. Perhaps that was why his reply was so impassive, too quick. Spitting it out was better than agonizing over it, and arriving at the same words, only to whisper them through tears. He wished Inaho would look at him. Just once. His tired eyes begged it of him, but of course Inaho would not see that.

He bit his lip. This was not supposed to happen. Not now, after he had come so far. They were sliding back into that abyss of complicated feelings and uncertain intentions, where they silently gauged each other at every word. Except now, their roles were somewhat reversed. Those ephemeral days of comfort and warmth were gone, perhaps forever.

This infernal prison – he had learned from Yuki that this was, indeed, the prison he had spent eighteen miserable months in – seemed to be the one place that would never leave him alone. Just existing within these walls crushed his very soul with an insidious despair. Even with Inaho here at his side, and Yuki down the hall, this was not home. Ending up in this place only ever accompanied some terrible event in his life, and this was no exception. Would Inaho take him away a third time?

Unlikely.

Inaho would not even look at him.

"I'm sorry. Please don't cry…" he heard a quiet, wearied voice.

He had tried to be discreet about it, but crying was not particularly easy or comfortable with a wound in one's lung. His struggle to breathe was quite audible.

"Please don't… please…" Inaho repeated. He must have sounded pathetic for Inaho to plead, or maybe he was worried that the lung would sustain more damage. Though if the lifeless look in his eye was any indication, this was not the Inaho he knew.

How had it ended up this way?

* * *

Inaho rolled his pencil restlessly between his fingers. He had never had these kinds of nervous habits before, but they were popping up everywhere now. The anxiety he was avoiding taking his medication for was seriously inhibiting his ability to focus. Yet taking it made him too drowsy to do much, either. Slaine probably would have laughed at him for putting the dishes in the fridge not once, but thrice, though it only seemed to worry Yuki. He had burned dinner for the first time today. Not that he had much of an appetite lately, anyway.

"Nao-kun? Are you still up?" he heard Yuki's voice just outside his door.

He nodded listlessly, forgetting she couldn't see him.

"Nao? I'm coming in…"

A few moments later she was crouching beside his chair, looking up at him. "It's getting late, why don't you rest and finish this up tomorrow-"

"It's due in the morning."

Her mouth formed a soundless 'ah', and she looked pensive for a moment. "It won't affect your grade much, ri-"

"It will. It's thirty percent."

He had expected the usual spiel of how he didn't need to rush graduation, how his health should be priority, how they could easily afford to pay for another semester or two, how he didn't even really need a degree anyway, since he was already well employed. This time, she said none of those things.

"Can I help with anything?" was her soft response.

He appreciated the change, but "Yuki-nee, that would be cheating."

She pressed her lips together. "I didn't mean like that! Just… is there anything that would help you concentrate? Music? Something hot to drink?"

There was probably not much that would help him concentrate at this point, but he gave it some thought anyway. She looked so eager to be of use to him.

"Can…" he hesitated. This would probably sound pretty stupid, but it was the first thing that came to mind. "Can you clean my room?"

It was not necessarily that he had trouble concentrating in a dirty environment. He had made do in plenty of cluttered spaces. And his room was not actually all that dirty. The main issue was the stack of books in the windowsill, the shirt by the closet, the cup of water on his desk, the socks beside his bed. None of them were his. He had not touched any of them since that morning, he couldn't. Remembering Slaine at all made him incredibly anxious. And that made him feel guilty, because Slaine was hurt, and alone, and probably worried and depressed, which made him more anxious. It was a vicious cycle, and in the end he found himself avoiding anything that remotely had to do with Slaine. But sitting in a room with all of these things hardly helped. The living room was worse – the empty half of the couch was a much more poignant reminder than the clutter around him now. He was starting to realize that, when it came down to it, he was still actively avoiding dealing with anything. Dr. Yagarai had told him as much, but he of course hadn't seen it until now. Perhaps he had never been very good at solving his own problems. They typically resolved themselves if he ignored them long enough, or eventually a solution would present itself. But neither of those events were likely to happen in this case. Eventually, he would have to face this and root it out like an invasive weed, even if it took half of him with it. If he waited too long, it would take all of him. He knew this, and yet… it was so very hard. He liked to think he was stronger than that, but the fact remained. And now Slaine was not there to chase away his nightmares, to dry his tears, to hold him as he fell asleep. He would have to do this on his own.

"I didn't know Slaine could draw," said Yuki as she picked up a notebook, which was folded open to a page covered in floral illustrations. The light pencil strokes, the careful crosshatched shading, the thorough notes in that familiar, elegant hand. He had watched Slaine copy them from a library text, precisely and deliberately. That particular notebook contained all of his favorite flowers. Some of them he had living versions of in the garden, but most of them he had never seen with his own eyes. He would have liked to take him to a botanical garden someday.

Inaho could almost feel his heart tearing apart just then. He could not dismiss such a potent memory no matter how he tried. It was not Yuki's fault. He hadn't told her why he had asked her to do this. Yet she seemed to realize the effect of the notebook instantly and the look on her face was yet another knife in the wound.

"Nao-kun, I'm so sorry," he heard her say as he tried futilely to stop the tears before they came.

Her arms were around him a moment later.

"I should... be there…" he sniffed, trying not to sully her shirt. It had been two weeks and he had not visited the prison a single time.

She smoothed his hair back, "it's alright. He understands you're busy."

"That's not…"

In reality, school itself was not actually all that important to him. He had realized this some time ago, but ignoring that fact made it easier to continue using his education as an excuse to put off addressing more urgent matters. School was something that gave him a sense of control, purpose, and accomplishment. Solid grades and progress towards an achievable goal was a security in and of itself, one he clung to as an anchor to center his otherwise volatile life around. Now that, too, was falling to pieces. He would fail this class, and probably the others, too. Admitting it made him feel useless. Now there was not a single thing left that he could do satisfactorily. He should be at Slaine's side right now, but the last time all he had done was make him cry.

"Nao-kun," Yuki gently interrupted his thoughts, "please rely on me sometimes, ok? You know I'll always be here for you."

He nodded numbly as she rubbed his back in soothing circles.

"What should I do?" he asked resignedly. Rarely, if ever, did he ask for someone to fix something for him, but right now it sounded nice. In the past few years, he had tried to become someone Yuki could depend on, since she had been the one taking care of him all his life. He had even become her superior, and been able to keep her safe for the most part during the war, though she hardly listened to him anyway. But at some point he had forgotten how much he really needed her, even now. He would probably always need her. She was, after all, as much his mother as she was his sister.

"Mmm," she hummed softly, "I think you should let this semester go. Drop all of them. Take a few weeks off work, and focus on your heath. And…"

"And?" he dried his cheek with his sleeve.

"He can't come home right now, but you could stay with him, you know."


	8. Try

"It's your turn." Rayet twirled the string of her hoodie around her index finger as she looked at him, and then down at the playing cards laid out across the table. The old metal chair creaked as she shifted in it. "Slaine," she said a little louder, though her tone was gentler now than it once had been, "Slaine, he's not coming."

Her voice broke through his thoughts like a distant echo, and he realized he had been staring at the door again. "Sorry," he mumbled, and laid his card on the stack.

She eyed him for a moment, before folding her hand and laying it face-down on the table. "We don't _have_ to play this, you know," she said with a short sigh.

Slaine nodded listlessly and dropped his hand into his lap, allowing the cards to tumble from his fingers.

He appreciated her visits, he really did. And he felt a little bad that he was not more pleasant to be around. But the idea of doing anything, even holding a basic conversation, seemed like an impossible amount of effort. The first time she came they talked about books, and plants, and food, and anything but Inaho, but it was such a forced endeavor that they quickly abandoned it. Rayet was not much of a talker to begin with, and he was surprised that she had come at all. This time she brought cards, and books, and things to do silently rather than talk about, but even those were unsuccessful. He wondered how he had ever managed to read so much, when finishing a single chapter now held no appeal at all. As much as he wanted to be grateful for her visits and produce positive results for her, he could not even bring himself to fake it. She would probably see through that, anyway.

That was not to say that if she were to stop coming, he wouldn't be disappointed. The thought behind it was really all that mattered, along with the presence that could distract him, at least for a little while, from his own toxic thought life. He also needed her because she seemed to be the only person who was willing to be brutally honest with him. Ever since the day he was shot, she seemed to have lost her constant, open distrust of him. He wondered if she was aware that the shooter had always been aiming for him, and that shoving her out of the way had been pointless.

Rayet gathered the cards and put them in her pocket. "It's getting late, I don't want to keep Yuki-san waiting."

He nodded, and she rose from her chair and headed for the door.

"Oh and," she added over her shoulder, "eat your food."

The slow walk back to his cell was silent, as it always was, and when the guard closed the door behind him he glanced at the blue tray on his bed. It was exactly as it had come, not one thing even sampled. Slaine hobbled over and sat down clumsily beside it. A small sigh escaped his lips as he leaned his head back as far as he could, staring holes into the ceiling and wondering why he hadn't said goodbye. Or thanked her for her visit. He probably should have asked how she was doing in her class, too. Did she find another tutor? Next time, if there was a next time, he would ask her.

It was late, but he wasn't tired. He had already slept too much. A large part of him wanted to go to sleep and never wake up, but he knew he couldn't think that way. He had to trust that Yuki was right, and that he would be going home again. She was usually right. If there was anyone in this wretched universe he could trust without fail, it was her.

Yuki came much more often, and he could always expect to see her the same days as Rayet, since she was the one who drove them. She seemed to be trying to make up for her brother's absence by turning up nearly every other day. The drive was long, it was too long for her to be making so often, but he didn't have the strength to tell her not to come. He would have resented Inaho for it, but in truth he was just as guilty for not stopping her. Not that Yuki would have listened to either of them had they tried to tell her what to do. She always seemed to know what was best for them, anyway.

When no one was there, which was most of the time, he slept. That seemed to be all this prison would ever be good for, and when he was a wake, he did nothing but think, and stare, and wish he was sleeping. They told him to sit up as much as possible, to walk, to do his breathing exercises, because otherwise his lung could collapse again, or worse, he might develop pneumonia. But those were not very convincing incentives. Especially since the cell they had moved him to was not large enough for much walking.

Yuki always spoke as though he was going to come home when he was recovered, but he knew better than that. To get out of here again, he needed Inaho. That was the only person with the ability to spring him from this place, aside from Asseylum, and she was much too far away now.

His mind flitted to her. He didn't think about her so much anymore, not after their last parting. But she would always be there, somewhere at the edge of his memory, the beautiful speck of light he could never quite reach. Her offer, supposedly always open to him, came to mind more than once. His situation would be more stable there, under her direct rather than remote care. He would not have to inconvenience Yuki. He would not cause Inaho any more pain. Yet even though it had always been the most logical option, he was certain that he would rather rot in a cramped cell with the faintest hope of going home someday, than leave Earth behind forever. If he could not be with them, he did not want to be anywhere. He had already determined that the last time.

Perhaps it was greedy to think this way. Recent events had reminded him more than ever who and what he was, and why he was in this situation in the first place. For years he had made consistently poor choices. Terrible choices. There were so, so many who were gone forever, and even more who would never recover from the loss and the trauma he had caused. Why should he be any better off? He should at least suffer as much as they had. It was a fool's errand to hope that he could right any of his wrongs at this point, except in enduring the equivalent afflictions.

All he knew was that he had no right to wish for anything, but then… wasn't that what it meant to be alive? To desire self-preservation, to reach for happiness, to seek freedom and success? Being denied those things and then told, forced, to continue living, was a fate worse than death. And he would accept that fate. Because as painful as it was, he had already decided that he was going to live.

He looked down at the cold, mysterious meat and vegetables. Perhaps he should try a few mouthfuls of rice. It was the safest looking option, anyway. If only he had a kitchen and some ingredients, he could at least produce something more appetizing. _'Eat your food'_ \- Rayet's words lingered in his mind, and he poked disinterestedly at a few beans. She was right, he needed to eat it. The other day, Yuki had brought him a homemade meal. She must have rushed to make it between work and her long drive to the prison, and he absolutely couldn't let her do such an inconvenient thing again. He was certain it had been because she noticed that he wasn't eating the prison food, and got it in her head that she needed to cook for him. That would not do at all, and thus, he needed to eat. He probably would have disposed of it elsewhere if possible, but he already had enough guilt without adding deceiving Yuki to the list.

He felt a sort of pathetic sense of accomplishment after managing several bites, but nearly as soon as he has set down his utensils, the feeling was gone. Well, he had tried, anyway. Next time he would try harder. He set the tray on the floor and crawled under the standard issue blue blanket that had long been his constant companion in this place. His eyes closed, but sleep was still a long way off. His wound hurt terribly from all of the sitting up and moving about that evening. There were painkillers he could request, but he didn't really see the point. As he lay there, attempting to shut off the endless stream of thoughts, his fingers played idly with the pendant around his neck. If this thing was meant to ward off evil spirits, it was doing a dreadful job of it. Those who possessed it seemed to have the worst luck.

* * *

When Slaine woke up, the room was still dark. There was a soft patter at the window, which he assumed to be rain, but otherwise all was quiet. His eyes drifted closed again, but he remained awake. About an hour must have passed before he heard a soft knock at his cell door, and opening his eyes, he could now make out in the pale dawn light that it was snowing, rather than raining. He rolled over to face the wall, not deeming it necessary to get out of bed since whoever it was would enter regardless of his consent. It wasn't as though he could open the door, either. At this hour, it was likely a guard coming to check him and his cell. He was not on suicide watch, not officially anyway, but he was well aware that they were being especially cautious. It was the same routine as before, whenever he had refused to eat.

As the heavy clang of the lock and creak of hinges reached his ears, he lay very still, so as not to have to converse with anyone. The door opened, and he heard the familiar click of heels on the cement floor. He knew those footsteps.

"Yuki-san?" he said, rolling over.

She smiled down at him, and her eyes flicked to the tray on the floor before landing squarely on him again. "You ate a little," she said quietly, a relief in her eyes that made the previous night's effort entirely worth it. He expected her to encourage him to finish it, but she seemed to have moved on to something else in her mind, as her eyes wandered and she fidgeted nervously.

"Is somethi-"

"Nao wants to see you," she announced, spitting out the statement like it would burn her if she held it in any longer.

A long, dreadful silence followed as Slaine stared at her.

"He's… he's here now," she added, a bit clumsily. "Should I bring him in?"

He found it strange that she should ask, since here he had very little say in anything at all. At one time, Inaho had come and gone as he pleased, without even bothering to knock. Only after recent events had he realized that the guards were as much for his own safety as for his visitors'. Not that Inaho had ever harbored any ill intent.

Yuki watched him expectantly, fingers tapping an anxious rhythm on her arm, and he realized she was waiting for his answer. There really only was one answer.

His pillow rustled softly as he nodded. "Yes."


	9. Tell

Slaine sat up as Yuki retraced her steps to the door. His heart was pounding uncomfortably and as much as he had been hoping for this over the past weeks, now that the time had actually come he was suddenly nervous. He resisted diving back under the blankets, and propped his back with a pillow while he waited.

After what seemed like an eternity, the door opened again and Inaho appeared. There was nothing much different about him, nothing visible anyway, though he seemed more jaded than before. Slaine noticed it instantly, and wondered whether things had gotten worse for him since their last meeting. He wanted to ask, but now was not quite the time. There were other things to settle first.

Inaho was bundled up in a coat and scarf, and carried a large bag under his arm. Melted snow had soaked through his shoulders and dampened his hair, and a few larger flakes clung to his shoes. Not surprisingly, though disappointingly, his focus remained fixed on the floor. Slaine nibbled at the inside of his cheek, wondering if perhaps he had allowed himself to hope for too much. Showing up at all was certainly an improvement, but being avoided like some kind of curse was a painful reminder of the reality of the situation. He briefly empathized with Medusa.

Slaine turned his own gaze away. "You didn't need to come," he said under his breath. A rude thing to say to someone who had just come to visit him in prison, but careful words seemed pointless now. He understood, or tried to understand, why Inaho had vanished for over half a month, yet it hurt no less. The weeks of gentle concern and coddling were over. If they were going to lay everything bare, now was the time for it.

Inaho remained hesitantly in the doorway, and after about a minute had passed, Slaine leaned his head back against the hard wall.

"Are you co-"

"Let's play chess."

Of course. Just like old times. As if they needed any reminders of that. A small huff escaped him and he moved his legs to make room for the board and an added person.

"Is that even allowed in here?" he asked as Inaho removed his scarf, coat, and shoes, and drew a box out of his bag.

The bed shifted under the new weight. "I don't particularly care," was the short reply.

"The hinges are metal." As offhanded as it was, the statement evoked the desired reaction. If he had blinked just then, he would have missed the slight widening of Inaho's eye.

"I'm not leaving it here," he replied softly.

Slaine propped his chin with his hands. He had half expected Inaho to explain how the hinges were not sharp enough to be used for self-injury, or how, without a screwdriver, it would be nearly impossible to remove them. It was almost disappointing. In a pathetic way, he missed that annoying corrective compulsion.

In hindsight, it was probably a stupid thing for him to have said. Inaho could request any level of suicide watch for him, and he didn't particularly desire what that entailed. He would have to make an effort to demonstrate that it was unnecessary. In any case, guilt tripping in these circumstances was a rather low move. Not that he had ever been one to shy away from underhanded methods.

The hinges creaked as the portable board was unfolded and placed between them. Slaine was well aware that the game was merely a distraction to ease the awkwardness between them, but he didn't mind. Maybe he was even grateful for it, though it robbed him of Inaho's gaze. He watched quietly as Inaho methodically set the pieces on their respective squares.

Silence settled on the room as the game began. The quiet tap of the pieces, the gentle rustle of linens beneath them, the hum of the heating system – they were all maddeningly serene. Eventually Slaine couldn't take it anymore.

"Why today?" he asked abruptly. It was absurdly early in the morning, and obviously poor weather for driving. Inaho could have waited a few days, and come in the evening. He could have come last night.

"I couldn't sleep," was the simple reply.

Slaine glanced up, and then back at the board. "That's not unusual."

The question was still unanswered, but now he was fairly certain he could guess it. It was simple impulse, as most of Inaho's abrupt decisions were. He shouldn't have made Yuki come, though. Not at this hour, and when she had work after.

He extended a hand towards his remaining bishop, and jumped a bit as Inaho spoke unexpectedly.

"I decided I should discuss this with you myself… as soon as possible."

Slaine looked up again, eyeing him suspiciously. He did not like the sound of where this was going. "About what?"

"I've…" Inaho hesitated, as though he had spoken too quickly, before he found the right words, "talked to Seylum-san about her offer. That was always the best option for you, I shouldn't have kept you here."

Slaine's mouth opened, but no words formed. It was a while before he even truly processed what Inaho had just said, and even then he thought perhaps he had heard it wrong, or that Inaho had made some mistake.

"Are… are you… joking?" he managed at last, letting the knight he had just picked up fall to the board.

Inaho carefully righted the pieces that had been knocked over. "I'm not. You'll be much better off there. And… safer."

Slaine's eyes narrowed and he crossed his arms. "I don't care. I don't want to go there."

This was ludicrous. The fact that Inaho was even suggesting the very thing they had both decided against only a few months ago, that he even considered it an option, refused to sink in. He had given the idea his own consideration, of course, but he did not want to hear it from Inaho.

"You've grown used to life here, but you don't know what opportunities will open up for you when –"

"Stop it."

Inaho did stop, and paused for a long, perplexed moment. "I'm… I'm not sure what you mean…" he said, tugging at the hair by his ear.

"Stop pretending that this is for me. You don't care, you probably never did." He was too tired for this. Too tired of the same thing, over and over. Drifting from place to place, pushed along by the people who didn't want him, or claimed to want him but never really showed it, until in the end they were gone and he was someone else's problem. Really, it was no wonder everyone got rid of him eventually. Because he was a problem, and he always would be. And the worst of it was that the only people who may have stuck by him, he had wronged in so many ways that they were much better off without him. If they were even alive.

"That's not true." Inaho seemed to be fumbling, as though he had imagined this would go much differently. He had probably expected a meek acquiescence, Slaine thought cynically. But there was too much invested in the past year for that.

He set his eyes on the lowered head across from him. "You're such a liar."

"What?" Inaho almost looked up. Almost.

"You lied to me, Kaizuka."

Inaho poked at a few game pieces, until they were each perfectly centered in their squares. "I am telling the truth," he tried again, rather humbly.

Slaine knew he should accept this fate, and whatever else might be decided for him – he no longer had the right to make his own decisions. But this hurt too deeply to let go. If he was to be shipped off like a gift wrapped vase, to be stowed away for safekeeping, he would not go without a fight. "You don't even remember what I'm talking about, do you? Well then, let me remind you that _you_ were the one who asked me to stay. That was your _request_. You made a _commitment_ when I asked you if you were sure about it. But you wouldn't know anything about something like that, would you? You only ever do what you think is best, without asking anyone else their opinion. As long as you're in control, as long as you're always right, you don't care about how anyone else feels. It's all about you, you, you and your precious logical solutions." Perhaps it wasn't exactly fair of him when he knew what Inaho was dealing with right now, but he was too miserable to care.

Inaho had by now ceased the attempt to form words, and his mouth, which had opened at several points only to close again, remained silent. Slaine glared at the chessboard. He wanted to throw it through the window. Instead, he tucked his knees up to his chest and buried his face in them.

"Are you that scared of me?" he asked sullenly, "Or was I just a charity case to you?"

The question that had nagged at him those first few months, perhaps since the very beginning - _"just how much of this is for Asseylum?"_ \- had never actually left him. He only realized it now, when the real answer was staring him in the face.

Inaho's hands dropped into his lap. "That's… I'm… not." The hesitation was far too evident.

Slaine gritted his teeth. "Prove it. Look at me."

"I-"

"You'll never have to see me again, anyway. At least look me in the eye when you tell me you want me off this planet."

This time he was met with silence. When it continued long enough that he realized words were not forthcoming, Slaine slumped back against the wall. There was nothing more to say. Not when Inaho looked so clearly distraught. He hardly had the energy to continue combating someone as equally defeated as he was, and all things considered, Inaho was right.

"Just leave," he muttered.

A chill crept over him and he tugged the blanket up over his legs. The room was well heated but his shirt was thin. As he leaned back into his pillows he felt the bed move slightly, and glanced up. Inaho was carefully putting the pieces back in the box, though his hands were shaking terribly, and when he had finished, he set it aside and lifted his gaze.

The heating system shut off just then, and they were left in an even deeper silence than before. Though now the soft patter of snow against the window could be heard once more, accumulating in a tiny drift on the outer ledge. As their eyes locked, Slaine found himself holding his breath. He wasn't sure why, but it seemed as though if he moved a single muscle something would happen to shatter this moment. They had both been expecting some horrible reaction, but when nothing seemed amiss, all that was left was weary relief. Inaho exhaled slowly.

"I honestly... just wanted you to be somewhere stable." He rose from the bed, and shuffled over to retrieve his things. Slaine had slid back under the blanket and pulled it nearly over his head. He watched Inaho put on his shoes and coat.

"Did she ask you to do this?" he asked, a thought suddenly coming to him.

"What do you mean?"

"The Empress. She asked you to give me back when she found out I was shot, didn't she?"

Inaho picked up his bag and stood up. With the chess box tucked under his arm, he handed the bag to Slaine.

"Yuki-nee made the food. Please don't throw that part away, at least."


	10. Tension

Slaine stared at the wall opposite his bed. The snow had stopped at some point, though he hadn't any idea how many hours and minutes had passed since Inaho's departure. A guard had come in directly after, and checked the bag that had been left with him. Apparently Inaho had blazed past the initial check on the way in, as the guard seemed rather annoyed. Slaine didn't bother to look as the contents were removed and then deposited back in. He didn't want anything to do with it. If not for Yuki's food, he would have told the guard to dispose of the whole thing. Though, part of him wanted to keep it out of spite, simply because Inaho had assumed he would want to throw it away. Not that it would make a difference.

The days passed, one after another. Nurses and guards with medications and trays of food came and went. As per routine, they told him to sit up, to take his accompanied walks, threatened an IV and feeding tube, told him in various tones of frustration to stop sulking and cooperate. He ignored all of them.

The bag sat, untouched, beside his bed. He had thought he would feel worse, that he would cry at least, but there was nothing. Just emptiness. It was no longer a matter of wanting to live or die, there was simply a void. He existed, nothing more.

His eyes drifted to the bag. He watched it, not particularly thinking of anything, as the evening light made its way up the far wall. Eventually it disappeared entirely, and night settled in. The fractured moon bathed the cell in a ghostly blue, and he began to think, for the first time in a very long while, about the two years he had spent out amongst its wreckage. Not about the war, or Asseylum, but about the people who had been by his side, and all the little moments that had made that time bearable. Where were they now? Did they know he was alive? He was not even sure that they were alive. He had been too afraid to ask, and they were no longer part of his life, anyway. But, on the slight chance that they did know, he hoped that they would not seek him out. He would not be able to face them. Especially not Lemrina. She deserved so much more than the knowledge of his survival.

Those times were behind him now. His past only brought him pain, for even the pleasant memories were simply reminders of what he had lost. Now he would be diving back into that world, but only in its liminal spaces, part of it yet out of sight and unknown.

As time dragged on, he tried to pry his eyes from the bag, but the more his thoughts began to flow again, the more curious he became about it. He should remove the food, anyway, before it spoiled. He reached an arm down and pulled it up onto the bed before sitting up just enough to take a look at its contents. A faint scent wafted from it. It was only for a moment, but suddenly his eyes were stinging. It smelled like the house it had come from.

He may have been there just less than a full year, but he would only ever think of that place as home. The sunny garden in the backyard, his little bedroom at the end of the hall, tea at the kitchen table, the inimitable comfort of having someone sleep beside him. It was a peaceful and healing place. And though he had been ripped from it, he could not erase its memory. Tears slipped unbidden down his cheeks as he reached into the bag.

The first item was a container of food, probably something Yuki had grabbed from the kitchen counter. After it came a little bag of homemade cookies, more of the same she had brought at her previous visit, and two chocolate bars. A faint smile ghosted over his lips before it vanished at the sight of a small potted plant, nearly overturned in the bag. He carefully removed it, momentarily forgetting who it was from as he patted the dirt back in place and gently untangled its leaves. Putting a live plant in a bag with food was a bit bizarre, but then this was Inaho. Slaine briefly wondered how long it had been sitting, neglected, on a shelf before Inaho had finally decided to visit. Had he picked it out at the store or had Yuki? He set it on the floor and returned to the bag. Remaining were some pens, two of his notebooks, and one of his favorite botany texts. His fingers lightly traced the title before he shoved it back in the bag.

After dutifully nibbling at a cookie, he pulled the blanket over his head and closed his eyes.

* * *

The scent of roasted chicken filled the kitchen, where Yuki was scurrying about with vegetables and dishes. It was a delicious aroma, but as usual, he was not hungry. He slouched into a chair and watched her for a moment. The scene reminded him of his very young years, when she would often give up an evening with friends to cook for him, and read with him, and then tuck him into bed. He probably should have felt bad about it, but he was always too content in those moments to care. She was _his_ big sister. She was the best.

Selfish. Perhaps he had always been that way. Yet if he was, no one had ever told him. Until the other day, that is. He was still replaying Slaine's words, trying to reconcile them with his own perspective. Yet that seemed nearly impossible. To his understanding, keeping Slaine with him rather than sending him somewhere safe with more freedom was the selfish choice. How could it be the opposite?

_"You only ever do what you think is best, without asking anyone else their opinion."_

That didn't seem particularly problematic to him. He had always been absolutely sure that his decisions were the best course of action, or he would not have carried them out. What could anyone possibly have to disagree with? Asking other people's opinions was pointless, as they'd either simply agree, or be wrong. But supposing Slaine was right, he would have to think differently from now on. There were, after all, often multiple solutions to one problem. He'd never really thought it made much of a difference which one he decided on, but perhaps it did matter to some people. And he was, slowly, realizing that not all problems needed fixing. Some were not problems at all.

Pros and cons were such a solid aspect in his decision-making process. When one outweighed the other, the answer was clear. But what if he was missing something? Were there pros he was unaware of? Emotions had always seemed irrelevant in these instances, but perhaps some irrational things were worth factoring.

He looked up at Yuki again. Alternate opinions…

"What do you think I should have done?" he asked, forgetting she was unaware of his presence.

"Ah!" she jumped a bit, "Nao-kun, you startled me. What do you mean?"

"Do you think I made the wrong decision… for Slaine? What would you have…" he trailed off as her expression became increasingly surprised and concerned. It was only then he remembered he hadn't even asked her about this at all until now.

She set down the bowl she was holding, and came to sit at the table with him. "Nao-kun, how would you have felt, if I had forced you to stay somewhere safe during the war? Somewhere far, far away, that wasn't home, and that you could never leave again, not even to see me?"

The answer was simple enough. Miserable, probably. There was no denying he had felt restless and useless during those long months of rehabilitation. To be in that position for the rest of his life would probably drive him mad. He stared down at the table. Yuki always had a clearer view of things like this.

She put a hand gently over his and leaned across the table to look him in the eye. "Do you understand now? I can't really give you an answer as to what decision is best. I don't know that, and maybe it isn't even for you or me to decide. But I think a good place to start, is to try to understand how he feels. You should consider yourself, too. Those things are both very important, even if it may not seem like it."

* * *

Inaho stared up at the shadows that sprawled across the ceiling above him. They were cast by the small night light that had mysteriously appeared in his room several days ago. He had not removed it. In the past it would have kept him awake, but now it had the opposite effect. It was not that he particularly had anything against the dark, but waking up in it was rather disorienting. The light was grounding. Yuki was always quietly taking care of him these days. For now, he would accept it, along with her advice.

He pondered her suggestion. She had already hinted at Slaine's perspective, and he did have some understanding of how he must be taking it. But his personal feelings about it were something he was actively ignoring. He did not want to think about it, especially since lately he never knew what effect certain thoughts would have on him. Last time he had ended up crying and worrying Yuki. It was all so absurd and exhausting.

As usual, Yuki was right. He was thinking too objectively about Slaine. Even after the past several months, it was hard to undo the years of considering Slaine as a case needing a solution. Or maybe even a puzzle with various missing pieces. But Slaine was a person. He had his own wishes, his own feelings, and, as he had recently experienced, his own opinions.

He stretched out a hand towards the ceiling, watching its shadow move on the curtains. He hadn't actually confirmed the plan with Asseylum yet. They had only discussed it briefly. And, as Slaine had easily guessed, it had been her fervent request. He generally found it difficult to refuse her on any front, which was what had gotten him into this in the first place, but perhaps he had subconsciously been hoping someone would give him a reason to tell her it was unnecessary. That Slaine would be best off on Earth, under his and Yuki's care. That was not likely to happen, though, because it simply wasn't true. In his current condition, he was not suited to take care of or protect anyone. Especially not Slaine. He had not had any major adverse reactions during their last encounter, but the entire time he had felt the distinct urge to get away. Some instinctive part of him did not want to be near Slaine, as though his brain had been rewired to link him with imminent danger. Logically, he knew nothing would happen, yet he couldn't shake the feeling of an immediate threat, even without the horrific flashbacks.

His hand fell back to the pillow beside his head. He had taken Yuki's advice and dropped out of every one of his courses that semester. He still went to work, as he needed something to keep him busy, but the lightened schedule had given him more space to focus on sorting things out. Things were not sorting very well, though. Not yet.

As he rolled to his side, hoping his medication would stave off any disruptions to his sleep, his phone went off. He wondered who could possibly be calling him at this hour and reluctantly reached for the buzzing device.

"Hello?" he did not bother to hide his drowsy irritation.

He listened silently and then, without so much as a 'good bye', dropped the phone and stumbled out of bed. After about five minutes of knocking, a disheveled Yuki appeared in her pajamas, yawning excessively and rubbing her eyes as she clung to the door frame for balance.

"Nao-kun? Is everything alright?"

"Can you drive right now, Yuki-nee?"

She gave him a sleepy, quizzical look, and nodded dubiously. "Mm... why?"

"Slaine is sick."


	11. Trial

The road was dark and deserted on the way to the prison. A very large mug of coffee sloshed in the cup holder as Yuki messed with the radio.

"Nao-kun, won't you please tell me some details?" she complained, giving up on the radio and reaching for the coffee instead.

He would have preferred to go himself, and let her sleep at home with a promise to keep her updated on the situation, but he had taken a fairly potent medication not even an hour ago in hopes of getting a good night's sleep. The effects would not wear off for quite a while, and thus driving was ill advised. Besides, he was not sure how long he would need to stay at the prison, and Yuki might need the car in that time. It was unavoidable, and now he was a captive audience to her questions, which were particularly difficult to dodge in his drugged haze.

"They didn't tell me mu-"

"Nao!" her tone was surprisingly sharp.

His mouth remained open as the remainder of his words died on his lips, and he looked at her. "Sorry, Yuki-nee," he apologized quietly. He paused to think of a better answer, but then somehow forgot what it was they were even discussing.

"What exactly did they tell you on the phone?" Yuki prompted more gently, sparing a glance in his direction as he pressed his temples in an attempt to focus.

He dutifully thought back to the phone conversation, and spilled it out for her. "I honestly wasn't told much, but… it's respiratory. Probably a virus-"

"Isn't that bad?" she interjected, "His lung…"

Inaho leaned his head back against the seat and took a deep breath. "Exactly. Apparently they didn't call me yesterday because they didn't think it was that serious, but this afternoon he started coughing and an hour ago his lung collapsed…" he trailed off. The road stretched endlessly before them, and he felt himself growing sleepy watching it vanish beneath the car. The whir of the heating filled the silence, until Yuki urged him to continue.

"He's doing a little better," he answered, tracing the seams of the armrest with his fingers, "but they don't have much at the prison's medical center. If things get worse, they may have to move him back to the hospital where he had the initial surgery."

"But they only borrowed an operating room then. He can't stay as a registered patient there …"

Inaho glanced at his sister. She seemed rather calm about all this, but her eyes were clouded.

"No… he can't. I suppose they'll figure out something."

For a little while they drove in silence. He stared out again at the dim, moonlit scenery as they passed it by.

"Nao-kun, he'll be alright."

She wasn't even looking at him, but somehow she sensed the dark places his thoughts were headed just then. He could not help but think of the possible outcomes of this development. She hadn't asked, but rather than keep his dark musings to himself as he usually would, for some reason he carelessly opened his mouth again. "I don't... really know that."

He could hear her shift in her seat, and take an inordinately long swig of coffee. "What do you mean, Nao?" she inquired at last, in a way that was abnormally hesitant for her. It was easy to tell that she didn't really want to know.

She would probably pry the answer from him anyway, so he continued. "If he coughs too much, the wound could rupture, or his lung could collapse again. But if he doesn't cough, he could develop pneumonia. Either way, there's only so much they can do. His body is just... so weak. He has nothing to fight this with."

Part of him was glad his emotions were forcibly blunted just then, or he probably would have cried again. Instead there was a strange, dull sort of distress. He slouched further in his seat and closed his eye, not particularly wanting to see his sister's face. Nor did he want to continue thinking about any of this, though of course it was the primary subject on his mind. Pneumonia was a leading cause of patient deaths in hospitals. It was a formidable illness for those already weakened by injury. And Slaine was at a particularly high risk for it, having lung damage already.

He pushed his thoughts to something else. How Slaine could have gotten sick in the first place, when he only ever saw a handful of people, was concerning in and of itself. It was possible that someone had been carrying something, without contracting it themselves, but it was unlikely. Illnesses of this sort typically spread through contact with some form of fluids, which required symptoms such as coughing.

The probable explanation was that one of the prison staff had concealed a minor illness so as not to be cut work hours. Even a very mild chest cold could be easily contracted by someone with extremely low immunity, through a simple cough, unwashed hands, or ingesting something contaminated with it. Though he liked to think it was a simple matter of personal convenience, that someone had just been careless, equally possible was that he had been deliberately exposed to it If that were true, the person probably assumed that it would be blamed on a visitor, if Slaine did end up falling ill, and could never officially be traced back to them. Either way, it meant that Slaine was, at best, not being treated with due care.

His hands clenched. He had been stupid, again. Slaine was not even safe at the prison.

* * *

Slaine coughed feebly, cringing with each movement. His chest felt like it was being crushed, and that even breathing would cause it to cave in. It felt much better now than it had earlier, when he had woken up coughing only to find himself unable to breathe moments later, with an incredible pain stabbing into him and his heartbeat struggling. Luckily, it happened to be just before his nightly nurse visit, and he had called in assistance in time. From their jargon he deciphered that his lung had collapsed, which sounded terrifying, and felt worse, but he was far too weak and delirious to panic much. Memories of the day he was shot seemed to invite themselves into his mind, regardless, as he felt the pain in all the same places. The cough and the fever were new additions.

Now that tube was back, stuck into his chest just as before. It made him strangely uneasy, but whatever it was doing, it helped. He remembered from the anatomy book he had read last month that there was a cavity between the chest wall and the lung, which could fill with leaked air and prevent the lung from inflating properly. He stared at the ceiling with miserable eyes. Painkillers eased the discomfort in his chest, and cough suppressants prevented him from causing any more damage, but neither fixed the general feeling of being injured and ill and hopelessly weak. The last time he had gotten sick, he had been snug in his own bed at the Kaizukas' house, with two round-eyed siblings pampering him with homecooked meals and pleasant company. He closed his eyes and breathed slowly, hoping he could manage to sleep now without the coughing waking him again and again as it had before.

He must have fallen asleep at some point, for the next thing he knew, he was roused by the heavy clank of a lock turning, and a door opening. Someone entered the room, and stood at his bedside.

"I thought I told you to leave," said Slaine, his voice hollow and frail, and his eyes firmly closed. He did not need to see Inaho to know that he was there. He knew that stride. He had heard it time after time, practically memorized those steady, light footfalls, ever unwavering, for the past three years.

For quite some time neither moved, and not a word was spoken between them. Until, eventually, Slaine grew restless, and shifted as much as possible to the opposite side. It had been a long time since he'd felt so irritated by Inaho's mere presence. Had he been in better health, and possessed the strength to move more than a few slow centimeters to either side, the familiar urge to lash out at him would likely have been too much for his weary better judgment to withstand. It had taken a good bit of self control not to hit him in the past, when guards were breathing down his neck ready to take him down should he try anything. The element of surprise was his only ally then – he could probably have landed a few punches had he really wanted to, when the bastard was preoccupied playing chess with himself, but he had never tried anything at all. He knew better than to believe they would do anything worse than take away the few freedoms he yet possessed. Execution was never even on the table for him, not at that time anyway. And besides, in a strange way, he had looked forward to those loathsome visits. Seeing the only person he hated more than he hated himself had stirred up his dead emotions in a sort of agitated, masochistic high. He wondered where all that hate had gone, and when exactly it had been replaced with this irrational adoration. Perhaps it had always been both, in some chaotic whirlpool of extremes. Either way, betrayed as he was, at this point he found it disgusting that he ever cared about Inaho at all.

Now here they were again, nearly a year later, and he was weaker than ever – not just physically, but on all planes of being. Inaho, too, had declined significantly, to the point that it was becoming readily visible in his otherwise impassive appearance. The dynamic was entirely different from before. No longer were they the war hero and the defeated, or even a visitor and a prisoner. They were just two people trying to reconcile their pasts to their present, and watching it all fall to pieces because, in the end, they were irreconcilable in every way. From the moment they first met at Tanegashima, it was clear that this was never meant to work.

The problem was that he could not, no matter how much he tried, disregard the odd connection they had already haphazardly formed. He could not force himself to hate Inaho again, not when he could hardly manage to ignore him right now. But he was irritated, and he was wounded, and he wanted Inaho to leave. Of course, Inaho did not leave. He lingered, for what seemed a century, and then he circled round the edge of the bed, and sat down in a chair. Slaine kept his eyes closed, praying for sleep to take him before Inaho opened his mouth, for he was certain whatever words came out, he was sure to answer in spite of himself. He had already said too much in speaking at all.

"I'm not leaving," said Inaho, at last, though it hardly merited saying. The chair creaked as he settled in it. "Yuki-nee drank too much coffee on the road, but she'll be here in a minute."

In other words, be civil to her. It was unnecessary to tell him that, since he could not be rude to her if his life depended on it. Though he wondered what the coffee had to do with anything.

"The nurse filled me in. You should try to sleep."

Slaine suppressed a sigh. As if he could sleep now, with that exasperating presence so near. One eye opened in spite of his efforts, and locked onto the one gazing back at him. Somehow he had not expected Inaho to actually be looking at him right then. That obstacle had apparently been averted, but how long would it last? They stared at one another for at least half a minute, neither saying a word, until eventually Inaho stood up and came over to him. He sat on the edge of the bed, ignoring Slaine's evident vexation, and leaned down closer to him. Slaine's glare wavered as his tired mind stumbled into confusion. Only last week Inaho had seemed anxious to even be in the same room with him, and now he was getting needlessly close without explanation.

"Have you noticed anything off with any of the nurses?" asked Inaho, barely above a whisper, as he felt Slaine's forehead with his hand.

So, this was some sort of ruse. But why? Slaine blinked at him. Something off...

"Did any of them seem sick at all? or hostile... even nervous?" Inaho elaborated, "I know you would notice."

Slaine thought for a moment. No, he didn't remember anything like that. But he had put a lot of effort into ignoring nearly everyone who interacted with him recently. He shook his head.

Inaho let out a short sigh, and removed his hand. It was too cold to judge properly, and so he leaned down and touched his own forehead to Slaine's. "Your fever is too high," he said softly. He lingered a moment, before sitting up again.

_"You'll catch it, idiot,"_ thought Slaine, but could not bring himself to speak just then.

Feeling eyes on him, he turned his head towards the door. There was Yuki, leaning against the wall, smiling softly at them.

"You should say something when you come in, Yuki-nee," Inaho muttered as he stood up, and returned to his chair.

"I didn't want to disturb you." She glanced from one to the other, ignoring the skeptical look Inaho was giving her. The smile faded from her lips as she approached the bed, and really looked Slaine over. "You haven't been eating," she stated flatly, her lips curving into a gentle frown. Ever since that day, when Inaho had made his last visit, he had refused to see anyone, including Yuki. It wasn't exactly fair to her, since she had no control over the situation, but he really couldn't bear to talk with anyone.

He looked away, and said nothing. She would forgive him, as she always did, but whenever he looked at her he felt guilty for not taking proper care of himself. After staying a little while and making sure everything was alright for the moment, Yuki left to sleep in a spare bed in another room. It had been quiet while she was there, but the moment the door closed behind her an even heavier silence descended on them. The nurse left with Yuki, after checking his vitals once more and administering his medications. He turned out the overhead light behind him, leaving the room dimly lit by the small fluorescent lamp beside the bed. Slaine closed his eyes, feeling tired yet unable to sleep.

"Can I stay?"

The question was so abrupt that Slaine had to take a moment to register it. He had actually forgotten Inaho was still there, with all the coming and going in the past half hour. A frown settled on his lips, and he shifted to a more comfortable position.

"You'll do what you want, anyway," he said simply.

Receiving no further response, he opened his eyes to find that Inaho was staring listlessly at the wall. After several quiet minutes, his eye drifted closed, and he sank lower in his chair. He looked rather uncomfortable, exhausted though he was, nearly falling out of the seat as he nodded off every few minutes and shivering visibly. Eventually Slaine called the nurse back and asked him to bring a pillow and blanket.

When the nurse left the room, Inaho looked over at him drowsily. "Thank you…" he mumbled, before drifting off again.

Slaine leaned his head back and closed his eyes. It was cruel of Inaho to come here now, when he was weak and needy, and act the friend. All as if he wasn't still planning to send him off the moment he was well again, if he ever did recover. This was not a friendly visit, he reminded himself, it was a status check because he was in danger, and because Inaho always had to be involved and in control, even before the events of this year.

_"For the record, I still hate you,"_ was what he wanted to say, but as he glanced again at the shivering figure dozing in a chair, all that crossed his lips was a resigned, "You're the worst."


	12. Turn

Throughout the night, Inaho woke repeatedly to the awful sound of coughing and wheezing. Those responsible for Slaine's care had made the decision to allow him to cough in order to keep fluids from settling dangerously in his lungs, but the result was painful to witness. Whenever it became obviously too much for him, and he cried despite his refusal to communicate his discomfort level, he would be given something to help sooth it. Then he would sleep for a restless hour or two, allowing his lung a brief respite before it all started over again. But the worst of it was that he didn't seem interested in fighting the illness. His eyes were distant and lifeless, he hardly moved except to cough, and no matter what they tried, he would not eat. Fruit juice was the only nutrition they could get into him, but there was also the constant fear that he would inhale it and add to his condition.

Eventually Inaho did not sleep at all, but simply watched from his chair, hoping that those taking care of Slaine could work some kind of miracle for him. That hope faded, however, when at 6 am Slaine began coughing again, and drew his hand away only to find blood there. Slaine's eyes immediately went to him, and for an instant Inaho could see the fear and confusion in them. That look made him feel so utterly useless. Right then, at least, Slaine was silently asking him for some kind of assurance, but there was none that he could give. And then that look, so horrified only a moment ago, became alarmingly at peace. Did Slaine think that he was dying? Inaho stood up and quickly paced over to the bedside. He staggered a bit in his own fatigue, having gotten less sleep than ever despite his initial plan to rest well and long that night. It was a good thing Yuki had gone to bed someplace else, where she could not hear anything from this room, or she would have been awake as well. Slaine glanced up at him, damp lashes fluttering over glazed eyes, before the coughing started again. Another mist of red covered his hand, and he gasped for air with ragged breaths.

As Inaho stood there restlessly, unsure of how to help since he had rushed to Slaine's side without thinking, someone finally entered the room. They administered various medications, placed him on oxygen, and decided to give him a feeding tube as soon as the coughing subsided. It would only irritate his throat more, but they had to get something in him. Slaine didn't seem pleased about it at all, but his protest went no further than feebly shaking his head. Shortly after, Slaine fell asleep, the medical staff departed, and the room was quiet once more.

It was a good time for a nap, but something was on Inaho's mind now. He pulled his chair closer to the bed and sat down. For most of the night, he had observed everything that went on in that room, evaluating each word, expression, and action. It was a challenge he wasn't particularly up to, his cognitive functioning being less than optimal at the moment in addition to the exhaustion, but it was nothing compared to what Slaine was enduring. If it uncovered something, it would be worth it. But after hours of monitoring, and odd looks from nurses, nothing appeared amiss. Everyone seemed to genuinely want to help Slaine, and their actions and behaviors all but confirmed it.

Not just anyone could provide medical assistance to Slaine. There were a number of requirements they must meet before even being considered, and only those selected in the end were told who it was they would be caring for. A small team of two had been hastily formed when Slaine was first incarcerated, as he had come in badly injured, but both of those had gone on to other jobs, which they were unwilling to leave now. It had been nearly three years, after all. A new, slightly larger team was needed, and had been pulled together more carefully this time, and set on reserve in case of emergency. Inaho had never thought to check that these new caretakers were even properly qualified, but nothing seemed majorly wrong with what they were doing. The problem was that, though he acknowledged that nurses were certainly skilled in their own right, what Slaine needed was an experienced doctor.

The prison staff aside, he had been ignoring the source issue for far too long, perhaps hoping that the UFE would take care of it. But the one to blame for Slaine's misery and agony was still doing as they pleased. Perhaps they were, at this very moment, still actively trying to kill Slaine. He could bear with it if there were any signs that the culprit was being tracked down, but it seemed the UFE had given up the attempt at trying to catch a criminal that could not be charged with anything. They must know who it was, but there was only silence. In fact, they had been suspiciously quiet ever since Slaine was shot, and seemed uncharacteristically indifferent about his wellbeing now that he was in prison again. It was all rather dubious, and it was high time this was resolved. If it meant getting things done and safeguarding those important to him, Inaho would take matters into his own hands again, just as he had when they tried to assassinate Asseylum on the moon base. All things considered, he had never really trusted them. He had simply become lazy, allowing them to make most of the decisions with the assumption that they wouldn't try anything, because they didn't need to, or because the Empress of Vers was best kept happy and at a distance. He hadn't thought it through well enough.

Of course, no one really believed the Empress would revive the war even if provoked, especially since Slaine was perhaps her greatest secret. Yet though there were other factors that made them hesitant to stir up ill will with her, the overwhelming risk that was Slaine's very existence could hardly be ignored. Aggressive ambition was still rife amongst the Vers nobility, and Slaine, laden with the blame for far too many sins for one man to commit alone in a single lifetime, along with secrets many would prefer be buried with him, had become a much bigger spark than Asseylum ever was. It would be catastrophic if that spark were ever to fly. For the sake of this peace and all the lives that depended on it, the most reasonable course of action had always been to make Slaine's 'death' a reality. Now they had the perfect opportunity. If Slaine were to die of 'natural causes' in prison, it was no fault of theirs. So long as they had tried their best for him, Asseylum could not blame them. 'Best' was a highly interpretable term, and biding their time with the bare minimum seemed to be their interpretation. If ever they were to try to do away with the former Count Slaine Saazbaum Troyard, this was the time for it.

Only now did Inaho realize that he had been going about this all wrong. Removing Slaine from danger was pointless – it would always find him, wherever he went. He would not be safe anywhere, not in prison, not under the UFE's so-called protection, not even with Asseylum. Especially not with Asseylum, who doubtless wore her own invisible target. It was impossible, inhumane even, to put so many walls around Slaine and expect him to find happiness in secure isolation. The true solution was incredibly uncomplicated. It was Slaine himself who had shown it to him: simply determine the threat and eliminate it.

As a first step, he would contact Dr. Yagarai. At this point he did not particularly care whether the UFE approved or not. He could not trust that they were providing proper care and protection for Slaine, and until he was certain that the shooter was the only person involved in this, he would not inform the UFE of any of his movements, or suspicions, or anything else regarding Slaine. And because knowledge is as dangerous as it is useful, he would not tell Slaine or Yuki, either. The less they knew, the better.

* * *

It was a wretched way to go, really. Slaine couldn't help but wish it would've been a less piteous death, but he couldn't deny that this was more fitting. At this point, he was sure it was the end. It was finally the end. Finally. And the thought of this pain disappearing, and finding peace at last, if peace would be allowed him in whatever lay beyond the veil between this life and the next, that hope of solace, if only in vanishing completely, was the only consolation he could cling to as he felt his life fading. His fingers grazed the bed linens, etching every surface into his memory. He wanted one of Yuki's homemade cookies. If he closed his eyes, he could almost remember their taste. And when he realized that he would never feel the breath of this world's wind, or the sun on his back, or the coolness of the earth beneath his feet and in his hands, he thought that it had been worth it. It had truly been the best summer of his life, despite the outcome.

Whenever Yuki came in, he could tell she was masking that worried look again. Had they told her? They hadn't told him, exactly, but somehow he just knew. His condition was only worsening with time. It wouldn't be long. The increasing pain in his lung pointed towards one thing – pneumonia. To have survived neglect, abuse, torture, injuries, accidents, and whatever else had sought and failed to kill him over his comparatively brief lifetime, only to be taken down by nature itself, born from the very world he had nearly destroyed… fate always liked to have the last laugh.

Inaho was on his phone, though he looked nearly ready to pass out from exhaustion. After the first scare with the blood the other morning, he had moved his chair closer. So close, in fact, that he was leaning against the bed, using it as a sort of prop for his arm. The phone screen was obscured, but it was probably nothing very interesting. Inaho never did anything interesting on his phone, though it occupied a good amount of his attention generally. Yet lately there was a strange kind of focus in his eye, a clarity he had not seen there in months. He seemed to be searching, endlessly, tirelessly, for something.

Slaine let his eyes wander over the room, idly taking it all in. His gaze rested upon the little potted plant someone had brought from his cell and set on the windowsill. The buds had bloomed and, against the wintry backdrop of the world outside, it looked as though a part of spring had appeared early, just for him. The rest of the room was bare, and inhospitable, but the plant reminded him that he was not alone. In the end, it didn't really matter what Inaho was thinking or feeling. He was there, right there beside him, and he had been for nearly three days. The reality of death seemed to bring things into focus. Even if he was to survive this, did he really want to waste time with resentment? If their time together was to be short, he should make the most of it.

He startled a bit as Inaho rose from his chair, and put his phone in his pocket. Without sparing him a word or glance, Inaho grabbed his coat and things from the table, and began to walk towards the door.

"Where are you going?" Slaine asked anxiously, his voice only just audible through scarcely moving lips.

Inaho's hand drew back from the door, and he turned. "What?" He retraced his steps until he was at the bedside once more.

Slaine gathered his strength to speak again. "Why are you leaving?"

"There's something I have to look into. I'll be back, don't worry."

Why now? Why couldn't that be done later? He wanted to ask what on earth could be more important than him, what petty matter dared interfere and steal him away at a time like this, but he would not have asked such a presumptuous thing even had he possessed the energy. Instead, he rasped, "don't leave."

For a moment he could have sworn he saw the ghost of a smile on Inaho's lips. It was gone as soon as it had appeared, melancholy and fleeting. One hand moved slightly, as though to reach out to him, but then it relaxed again at his side. He headed to the door.

"I'll be back."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a lot of trouble with this chapter, so I hope it's alright ^^;;


	13. Truth

Slaine was asleep when he returned to the room. It had taken him a minute or two standing outside the door before he could bring himself enter, and see in just what kind of state Slaine would be. A lot could happen in three days. Thus it was both a relief and a shock to find that he looked much the same – a relief, because he was not worse, and a shock, because in his absence he had forgotten how many tubes and cords were attached to Slaine's ill, emaciated, deathly pale body. After walking over, and assuring himself that Slaine was alive, and breathing, and warm, he noticed a change in the air – it was humid. He glanced around the room until his eyes rested on the small humidifier that was humming away at the other side of Slaine's bed.

"It was the doctor's idea…" came a soft, feminine voice from behind him.

He turned around and found himself face to face with the night nurse. The one who was always looking at him when she thought he was reading or sleeping. At first he had suspected her because she always seemed slightly anxious around him, but then he realized her odd behavior had nothing to do with Slaine. For all his perception, he found it difficult to truly understand people. Picking up on patterns and tendencies while grasping their motivating forces was one thing, empathizing and interacting appropriately with them was another. The latter had admittedly never been his forte. In any case, she reminded him of Inko, which did not help at all, for he was always left a little bewildered with Inko. She was easy to read and yet somehow… not. Taking a quick double-step backwards, the nurse bowed slightly and gave him a nervous smile.

"I'm embarrassed that we didn't think of it before, such a simple thing…" she looked down at her hands, which were clasped in front of her, "s-sorry that we've not done so well for him… you had to go out of your way and…"

He felt a little bad for her, and for having to bring in his own doctor to take over, but it was necessary. If he had been in a better frame of mind, he might have tried to smile, just to set her at ease, but as it was he could hardly keep his eyes open.

Dr. Yagarai had come while he was away. He trusted the man, so it was an ideal time to leave and settle some things. The first of these was to reevaluate Slaine's situation with those with the authority to change it, and make some alterations. Hiding his suspicions was less of a problem than he had anticipated, as they seemed so eager to keep appearances that they forgot to consider that he was already onto them. It was a good call to make his requests when they had cornered themselves so conveniently. The second item on his agenda was to confirm the identity of the person who had exposed Slaine to the virus, if there was such a person. After scouring the prison logs a dozen times, along with all the copious information he'd unearthed on everyone who had set foot there in the past month, the only name that stood out belonged to a prison cook. At the time Slaine had not been eating much, if at all, but he had been drinking. Inaho had little desire to pursue a middleman, but attaching him to a source problem would give him peace of mind that there was no third threat to consider. The final matter was his own, personal mission, which no one need know about. Now, having completed what he'd set out to do, he could return and see to Slaine's recovery, and discuss with him how they would move forward from here.

Oddly enough, with all that was going on in the past few days, this new predicament seemed to be distracting him from the former and all its anxiety. Or maybe it was because he was finally facing something head-on again, pressing through rather than avoiding and ignoring, though he could almost hear Yuki's reprimands for doing it alone. The medication that he was dutifully taking, to the detriment of his continually empty stomach, must have been helping, as well. As both doctor and pharmacist had explained to him, and he had ignored until recently, it didn't cause as many problems when he actually took it regularly. But whether any of that was helping or not, he would stay by Slaine's side regardless of how much he might want to run. He was about to sit down and pull out his phone, when he saw a note on his chair.

_'8 solid hours of rest, no work, no phone, no excuses. –Yagarai.'_

Right. Well, he could hardly ignore such a prescription, especially when he would likely soon be telling Slaine to do as he was told for recovery. Best to start by setting an example. But he hated to leave Slaine's side for any longer than he already had.

"I'll let him know when he wakes up that you're in the room across the hall," offered the nurse, who for some reason was still standing there, peering at the note over his shoulder, "If he needs you I'll come wake you."

He couldn't remember whether or not he thanked her as he tumbled into a small spare bed, wondering how many days it had been since he had last gotten comfortable, uninterrupted sleep.

* * *

He felt a little better today. Not enough to make much of a difference, but enough to notice. Perhaps it was because he could breathe easier. The coughing persisted, but it actually seemed to be doing something now, and his lungs were loosening up, though it was all still very uncomfortable. That new doctor had changed several things, including his medications. Inaho was still nowhere in sight. Perhaps he had given up and gone home. He had his own troubles to deal with, after all.

This waiting was awful. Not knowing what was going to happen to him was awful. He wanted to know, and he wanted this to be over one way or the other, but it just kept stretching on and on. It had already been nearly a week and now his condition seemed to have plateaued. Apparently he had the beginnings of pneumonia, but it was not progressing quickly due to early intervention. Or so that doctor believed, since they did not have the proper equipment on hand to confirm it. It was all guesswork, really.

The hours of staring up at the ceiling, and at the little flower in the windowsill, and at the wall, were getting old. Reading was impossible, as was any other activity he might have enjoyed had he possessed the energy and interest. All that was left was thinking. Hours, and days of thinking. And dreading. And longing. And feeling the numbness sink deeper. His eyes followed the little stream of mist that floated up from the humidifier. Where was Inaho?

As if summoned by that thought, the door opened and there he was, yawning and rubbing his eye as he drowsily shuffled into the room. Given the state of his hair, he must have just been sleeping.

"Good morning," he mumbled.

Slaine gave him a puzzled look, and nodded emphatically at the clock. Talking was a little easier today, but his voice was still a hoarse whisper, so he would rather not talk if possible.

Inaho followed his gaze and squinted at the clock. He seemed a little startled when he realized the time. "… sixteen hours."

"Where have... you been?" Slaine asked. He had to ask. Inaho had left for three days without so much as a hint to why or when he would be returning.

"Hnn?" Inaho looked like he would doze off where he was standing, "She didn't tell you? I was sleeping. She was supposed to tell you…"

That didn't answer his question, but Slaine nodded in the direction of the whiteboard on the wall, which indicated the nurses' schedules. The night nurse had left hours ago, before he even woke up. If she was supposed to have told him something, she must not have passed on the memo.

Inaho seemed to understand, gave a quiet 'oh', and stood silent and motionless for a strangely long time, staring at nothing. He didn't look so good, but then that wasn't too unusual lately. All of this must be tiring for him. It was too bad this mess hadn't happened after he'd already moved to Vers, where Inaho wouldn't be burdened like this. Asseylum would likely have visited once or twice, through a barrier of quarantine glass, or expressed her concern via gifts and well wishes, and then servants would take care of him until he recovered, or passed on. Here he was nothing but trouble to Inaho.

"Are you… okay?" he asked, despite telling himself not to speak.

Inaho seemed a little surprised at the question. Was it so surprising that he cared? "Yeah… just tired…" was the sleepy answer.

"Still…?" Sixteen hours was a very long time to sleep. His body must have seized the opportunity to recover itself.

"Mm…" Inaho nodded, and came to sit in his usual chair, "more importantly, how are you feeling?"

"Awful…" he croaked, sounding about as ill as he felt.

It seemed a more appropriate answer than 'better', as even slightly better was still miserable. Inaho said nothing, but scooted his chair as close to the bed as possible while still leaving room for his legs between. Then he leaned forward and crossed his arms on the edge of the bed, and laid his head down on them.

"I guess you shouldn't talk much, but… do you mind if I speak to you for a bit?"

Slaine shook his head in response.

"I was discussing some things with…" he stopped, and closed his eye, "no, never mind. That doesn't really matter. Do you want to come home?"

If this was a dream, it was a cruel one. Once again, Inaho was saying ridiculous things, and he had no idea how to respond to them. For the first few seconds he was surprised, maybe even elated, but then doubt and distrust settled in. Inaho was looking at him now, probably expecting a quick 'yes', but he couldn't give that kind of reply. Not after all that had, and was still, happening. He had to process first, but his mind was going blank. He looked away.

"I guess that was sudden…" Inaho mumbled. "Well… think about it."

The sound of the clock ticking away on the wall filled the silence between them. One minute… five minutes… fifteen…

"Do you hate me?"

Apparently Inaho had not dozed off, nor learnt to introduce weighty topics slowly. But this question, at least, Slaine could answer. It was easy, he did not even need to think about it.

"No." But if they were going to be asking these questions, he might as well bring out his own. "Do I still…?" He had begun talking too fast, before he had formulated what it was he meant to ask. _"Do I still give you anxiety?" "Do I make you uncomfortable?" "Do I remind you of blood and gunshots and the cold grip of death?" "Do I...?"_

Inaho looked up at him, and then dropped his gaze to the bed. "Maybe… I don't know."

Half an answer, for half a question. But Inaho seemed to have grasped his meaning. It was a long while before he continued.

"I'll be fine," he said, a thoughtful look coming into his eye. "Truthfully… I'll probably never go back to how I was. It's not something that just goes away. This is my life now, so..."

A heavy, sinking feeling settled in the pit of Slaine's stomach. How could he be fine and not at the same time? If he was being honest with himself, Slaine desperately wanted things to go back to how they were. He had to remind himself that even then, when he had been enjoying his own brief happiness, Inaho had been quietly struggling with this, until eventually one thing piled upon another and pulled it into the light. And then he had been the grain that tipped the scale. Or a rock, more like, that changed the balance so suddenly that it made a scattered mess of everything. Inaho was holding up at the moment, but for how long?

"Still…" Inaho was not finished, "I'm not just giving up. I'm not going to let it keep me from living how I want, with who I want. Someday, it will be better. Maybe not the same, but that's fine, it doesn't have to be the same." He seemed to be musing aloud, as though he was repeating words to himself that someone else had often said to him. Was it Yuki? Then his distant gaze focused on Slaine once more, and he went on, "Yuki-nee told me to consider how I felt about all of this. To be honest, I really didn't want to. I've always assumed that kind of thing was more troublesome than helpful, but I guess maybe I just liked to think I was exempt from its effects. It's all confusing, and I'm not really sure about much of anything anymore, but the one thing I do know is that I never wanted you to leave. I was…" he paused, and shifted a bit, "I was afraid if I let you stay, I wouldn't be able to keep you safe. But you were right about a lot of things. I should have asked you what you wanted to do. I'm sorry."

Slaine listened silently. He weighed each word, wondering how many of them he could trust, and how many were missing, but Inaho hardly ever spoke so freely. Obviously he had been thinking about this a lot, and considering things he normally ignored. That was an improvement, but there was no guarantee it would stay this way. If something like this happened again, would he change his mind? This was too tiring. Better to stay on the ground, than stand up only to keep falling back down.

"I can't… keep doing this," he said in a trembling whisper, "You leave… you come back… and I…" He did not only mean Inaho, he was talking to many in his life, but Inaho was the one before him now.

"I know. I'm sorry," Inaho's eye met his, and he found he could not look away, "I'm very sorry…"

He disliked when Inaho was humble. It was unsettling, and it made him feel guilty, because while Inaho was certainly many things, manipulative had never been one of them. He hid things, and told half-truths, and didn't keep his word, but generally he was straightforward. Slaine could only assume that he was sincere, which meant rejecting his apologies would be a cold thing to do. Not that he had any resistance left, anyway. He had already decided before that being resentful was a waste of precious time.

"I guess don't really have the right to ask this anymore," Inaho continued, still holding his gaze, "but, please trust me. This will be the last time, I promise."

He could lie to himself all day that he was through with this, that he was fully prepared to part ways, that he had made peace with solitude or death or whatever lay ahead apart from Inaho, that this new glimmer of hope had not already consumed him. He was afraid to trust again, but, as always, he would take the risk once more.

"Ask me again."

He had been too shocked the first time. He wanted, needed, to hear it one more time, just to be sure it was real. So that he could imprint each word onto his memory and know, whenever he doubted, that he had not misheard, or misunderstood, or imagined them. Inaho lifted his head, and sat up. He stretched a little, yawned, and then leaned forward with his elbows on the bed, his gaze squarely on Slaine.

"Will you come home?"

"Hm…?" He had certainly heard, but even twice was not enough.

Inaho gave a very small huff, and settled his chin deeper into his palms. "Please come home…"

Slaine smiled faintly, and he closed his eyes. "Okay."


	14. Trust

It was a long, difficult week. Slaine did not begin to truly improve for several days, and there were many points when they feared they would lose him. If he had not clung so obstinately life, they just might have. Inaho did not leave his side again, and Yuki remained close by as much as possible, until slowly his body began to restore itself and struggle its way to health. Then, at last, the virus was gone. It was another stressful week before the infection in his lungs finally cleared up, but it seemed that all of the compounding factors had likely left them scarred. He would need something more specialized than a simple x-ray to confirm the full extent of the damage, and just how permanent it might be, but for now they were glad that he was out of immediate danger. Over two months since he had arrived at the prison, at last he was given the okay to go home. The days of recovery that still lay ahead would not be easy, but he was prepared to face them. He was not alone.

"Are you ready?" asked Inaho as he entered the room. He took off his coat and scarf and came over to the bedside.

"Yes. Did you get the plant?" It was the only thing in this godforsaken place that he wanted to take with him.

Inaho nodded. "It's in the car." Then without another word, he took his coat and draped it over Slaine.

"Won't you freeze?!" Slaine protested as he felt its comfortable weight on his shoulders, the fabric still warm from having just been worn.

"It's only to the car. I've already had it running, so it should be heated." Inaho helped him with the sleeves as he spoke. "When we get home, we'll need to look at getting you some winter clothes. Not that you'll be going out much for a while."

The shooter was still at large, but they had decided Slaine would go home anyway. Aside from the increased convenience and comfort for both Slaine and the Kaizukas, Inaho seemed to think getting out of the prison environment would benefit both of them, mentally and emotionally. He had gotten them to agree to release Slaine into his custody once more, despite their supposed hesitations regarding safety. The new arrangements also allowed him more latitude than before, making him more a guardian than a representative. For the most part it probably wouldn't make much difference, as far as day-to-day life was concerned, but if anything ever came up, it would be easier for him to act, and to allow Slaine the freedom of some choices. In any case, home could not be any more dangerous than the prison, as Slaine would not be venturing outside in either location. It was quite cold, being nearly January, and he would not have the strength to handle harsh weather for some time yet. He hardly had enough body fat to stay warm indoors as it was. Having lost over fifteen percent of his total body mass in the past two months, Inaho could easily lift him. Slaine huddled within the coat as they exited his warm room, and together they wound their way through the dimly lit, brick-lined halls of the prison. With any luck, he would never spend another night here again.

It was an odd feeling, being carried, and perhaps a little embarrassing. But walking any distance was still impossible for him. Even if his lungs had been functioning at full capacity, and he didn't end up gasping and out of breath after any minor exertion, two months of limited and almost complete immobilization had taken its toll on his bones and muscles. They had wasted away to the point that he could hardly stand up with them. One of the guards offered to carry him, but Inaho insisted on doing it himself.

"I guess I'm not the only one who's gotten weaker," Slaine remarked as they paused mid way on the steps to the next level of the building.

A maroon eye angled down at him. "Want me to drop you?" Inaho huffed, leaning against the rail. He was clearly winded.

"Please don't."

When Inaho had caught his breath, they continued on and proceeded to where Slaine received his ankle monitor, and they were given the clear to leave. At last they stepped outside. The chill of winter hit them immediately, and though the sun was shining it was windy. Slaine leaned closer as the icy air burned in his lungs, and he instinctively stuffed his face into Inaho's sweater so as not to breathe any more of it. Thankfully it was not long before he was gently set down in the back seat of the warm car. He nestled into the cushions, enjoying the warmth as Inaho climbed into the front seat. When they drove through the gates, he did not look back.

"I negotiated for a ten meter radius this time," said Inaho as they entered the main road.

"What? That's not even far enough for me to go to the kitchen without you."

"Don't be obtuse. It's in addition to home, of course. There aren't many places that are safe for you, but theoretically you could go anywhere now as long as you're with me."

"You mean as long as I'm with your phone," Slaine noted.

Inaho gave him a tired look in the rear view mirror. "I was going to tell them it was unnecessary, and it's not that I don't trust you, but you do stupid things sometimes, so… I set it for retina, thumbprint, voice, and password activation-"

_"It's not that I don't trust you_... _"_  Slaine repeated, staring in both amusement and disbelief at the back of Inaho's head. Yet somehow the mere idea of such a challenge was tempting in and of itself. Or maybe it was simply because it was Inaho who had set the lock, that he wanted to find the key. Such a game would only cause trouble, though. He'd leave it be.

Inaho ignored him, and continued. "You would have to outsmart or overpower me, which are impossible, so th-"

"You're awfully confident," Slaine demurred.

"- so the only remaining method would be to kill me, and I do trust you to refrain from that, at least."

"How touching." Slaine leaned his head against the window. "I can't believe you…"

"It took a lot of convincing to get this, you know. If anything happened, you'd be the one paying for it. And besides, when I mentioned it your mind went straight to how you could run. What am I supposed to think?"

"… true," Slaine admitted, "but you know I don't really mean anything by it. I can't even walk, how would I run?  _Why_  would I run."

"Slaine..."

"Mm?"

"I'm not going to count on a completely peaceful future. Yuki-nee says we can't go two days in a row without disagreeing, and unfortunately she's right. Just try not to do anything too idiotic if I upset you, okay?"

"What makes you think I'd do something idiotic?" He lifted his head from the window, a little insulted. "I'm not the one who's overconfident and impulsive."

"Actually, you are," said Inaho, in a gratingly matter-of-fact tone, "but when am I ever impulsive?"

"Am not. And literally every day."

"That is definitely a lie."

"A mild exaggeration," Slaine countered as he lay down in the back seat, already tired.

"Same thi- what are you doing? Keep your seat belt on." Inaho cast another glance at him in the rear view.

"You can maneuver that piece of ugly scrap metal in space and you can't drive safely on land?"

"That's not the point."

Slaine said nothing more, but lazily watched the sky beyond the car window. Maybe Yuki was right. Unfortunately, the closer two people are, the easier it is for them to hurt each other, even unintentionally. Especially when there is familiarity without understanding. That had all become abundantly clear. He curled up on the seat, still bundled in Inaho's coat, and clicked the seat belt on. They would have to try harder this time.

"Slaine-" he heard Inaho say sometime later.

Roused from his dozing, he looked to the front seat sleepily. "Mm?"

"Don't sit up, but look outside, on the right."

Slaine peered through the window. It appeared that they were passing through a small town, and between some buildings was a large, decorated fir tree.

"I'm not really sure what kinds of holidays you celebrate," said Inaho, "but Christmas is tomorrow."

Christmas. His father had always been too busy to take much note of it, and Vers had no such holiday, but it was still one of his fondest memories as a child. One year, when passing through a city, his father had taken a longer route to show him a Christmas tree. They hadn't stopped for long, because they had a plane to catch, but in all these years he had not forgotten the way the white lights sparkled like stars against the backdrop of the night sky. And his father standing quietly, hands resting lightly on Slaine's shoulders, and his keen, bright eyes looking down at him. It was not often that he had held his father's attention, or merited his time. It had made him very happy. The tree before him now was very different, with its modern styled, brightly colored decorations, but it was nostalgic all the same.

"Sorry we can't stop," Inaho apologized, "it's really not safe for you to be seen in populated areas."

Slaine watched it disappear as they passed it by. Even for a few seconds, he was glad to have been able to see it.

It was late by the time they arrived home. They had hardly pulled into the driveway when Yuki was at the door, eagerly waiting for them. Slaine melted into the arms that carried him into the house as the familiar atmosphere of home enveloped him. He never wanted to leave this place again. Not ever. He would gladly spend the rest of his life here, in this little house, or whatever house the Kaizukas took up residence in. It was exactly what he intended to do, and this time, he had been given assurance that it was possible. It was probable. Inaho would not break his promise again. There was no guarantee, but Slaine had chosen to believe in him. After all, if there was no risk involved, it wouldn't be called trust.

* * *

Christmas came and went, and the two of them spent their days quietly at home, while Yuki resumed her usual routine. Unable to do much else on his own, Slaine took up reading once again. Meanwhile, Inaho was often preoccupied with comparing career options, though he spent a considerable amount of time fussing over Slaine, as well, and pestering him to do his strengthening and deep breathing exercises.

"Come on, get up, you need to move," he urged.

It was noon, and Slaine had not yet done anything but lie in his bed reading. Slaine reluctantly sat up, got to his feet, and then after swaying for a moment, stumbled forward a step or two before collapsing into Inaho's arms. His chest was already heaving from the effort.

"Deep breaths," Inaho reminded him gently.

He was asking the impossible. Slaine clutched feebly at the arm that was supporting him. "I want… to sit… down!" he gasped.

"Breathe," Inaho pushed, and this time he tried to listen. "Just two more deep breaths... good... one more."

Released at last, Slaine flopped onto the bed like a ragdoll.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" Inaho leaned over him.

He would have refuted it, but he was still flat on his back, wheezing.

"If you keep it up, you should be able to recover almost completely from this. I'm sure you want to be able to go outside this spring."

He felt the bed move, and heard the soft rustling of fabric as Inaho lay down next to him.

"Mhm…" Slaine agreed distractedly, his breaths still erratic as they struggled to keep up with his racing heart. After a few minutes, they regained their usual calm rhythm and he found himself slipping in and out of sleep. The warm afternoon light washed over them and the fluffy bed beneath him was infinitely more comfortable than any he had slept in at the prison. For once, he was glad he had nothing to do, no work to go to, no homework to complete, no social obligations. And most of all, no one to lead or deceive or fight. There was nothing else to think about but this moment. At one time he would have waited anxiously for it all to shatter into irreparable pieces, but right now... it was nice, having something to lose.

* * *

"Dinner's ready, you two."

Slaine opened his eyes. The soft orange glow of the setting sun illuminated the room, and in the doorway stood Yuki. Evening… how many hours had they been sleeping? She seemed a little surprised.

"Oh! Were you asleep?" she whispered.

He was about to assure her it was alright that she'd woken them, because they needed to get up anyway, when Inaho mumbled something along the lines of "we'll be right down" into a pillow. Then he rolled over and glanced out the window. "Oh…" he mused drowsily, his eyebrows raising slightly as he realized they had slept the entire afternoon away.

"I thought it was awfully quiet in the house when I got home," said Yuki at the dinner table. "I'm glad you two are getting good rest lately."

"Yes, I just hope we can sleep tonight," Inaho replied. He took a long drink of water, and then sat back in his chair. When at last they had all finished, he continued: "Now that you're home, Yuki-nee, I can tell you two."

She looked at him suspiciously, and folded her hands in her lap. "Tell us...?"

"That person... the one who shot Slaine. He was arrested this morning."


	15. Tranquil

"What did you do?" Slaine asked as Inaho dropped a towel over his head.

After Inaho's announcement at the dinner table, they had talked very little, and spent the next few hours quietly in the living room. And then Yuki had turned in for the night, and they had followed suit by preparing for bed, though neither of them were tired yet. Slaine's baths were a bit of a troublesome process these days, and Inaho would have been against his taking one on a daily basis if not for how relaxed and contented Slaine seemed when soaking in the warm suds. He had forgone such a simple luxury for weeks at the prison, it was no surprise that he reveled in them now. And, admittedly, it was good for his joints and muscles. But Inaho dreaded them. It worried him that Slaine often fell asleep in the water, that staying in too long could lead to breathing difficulty, that he was unstable getting in and out, that, more than ever, without the deceptive facade of clothes Slaine looked as though he would break at the slightest impact. As if the scars were not enough, he felt his own body ache at the sight of the bones that plainly showed themselves just below Slaine's pallid skin. Each rib, every vertebra, right there before his eyes, as if to tell him that Slaine was still not safe, never safe.

Slaine did not seem too concerned about it. "I'll gain it back," he said more often than necessary, many times unprompted, and likely to quell Inaho's unreasonable stressing over it at odd times. Slaine was right, he was getting healthier every day, but recovery was an agonizingly slow process. The line between realism and pessimism was finer than he'd realized, and Inaho wondered if he would ever go back to the quiet, comfortable logic of just last year, or if he would spend the rest of his life this high strung. In the long run maybe it wouldn't make much of a difference. This was more normal than before, right?

Inaho looked down at Slaine briefly, before methodically drying his wet hair. "I'm not sure what you mean," he answered calmly, knowing perfectly well what Slaine meant.

He noted Slaine's fingers close slightly around the fabric over his knees, where they rested. "That man... you said he was arrested. What did you do?"

He didn't have to see Slaine's face to know what kind of expression it bore. Suspicion was too light a word. Still, he would divert it if he could. "What makes you think I had anything to do with it?" he inquired. Unfortunately, he was no good at withstanding Slaine's interrogations.

Slaine shrugged lightly. "Instinct… intuition... I'm not sure. I just know."

Of course. Though he did wonder if he had been too careless. It would be troublesome if Yuki was suspicious, too. She didn't seem to be, but then lately she had been far less predictable than usual. "Well, I didn't do anything," he insisted.

Thin hands grasped his wrists, and he let Slaine pull them away from him, suddenly finding himself unable to move. He froze, partly because of the insidious fear that had materialized out of nowhere, as it did from time to time now, and partly because he could not let Slaine detect those brief episodes of panic in him by reacting defensively. It would only hurt them both. And so he stood in breathless silence, trying desperately to maintain composure and hoping that it would pass as quickly as it had come.

The towel slid off onto the floor as Slaine looked up at him. "You weren't supposed to take care of this on your own," he said.

Those eyes were too piercing, they looked straight through his own, cutting deep, threatening, dangerous, painful...

Inaho quickly averted his gaze, feeling his heart rate rising as adrenaline coursed through him. His mind was rapidly tumbling into a place of irrationality. If only he could leave for a minute, get away, he needed to get away, he-

"Inaho."

He could feel Slaine willing him to look him in the eye, and he did. That even, assertive tone, neither angry nor sad, but strikingly unemotional in its firmness, was rare these days. It demanded his attention in a way that made him quick to give it. And, though it was nearly the identical tone Slaine had used before pulling the trigger, Inaho found that somehow, miraculously, it was now dragging him from the darkness that he had just nearly fallen into. This time, that voice was not dangerous. Slaine was not dangerous. Slaine was not a threat to him.

While these thoughts flooded and sloshed in his mind like a tidal wave, Slaine leaned forward, and lightly touched his forehead to Inaho's chest. He inhaled deeply, completely unaware of what had just transpired in the other's mind, or at least choosing not to remark on it, and then let it out slowly in one long breath. "I have unspeakably deceived many people in my life," he began, much softer now, "but you are not one of them. I have been more open with you than with anyone else. So please tell me, Inaho, after all this time, why is it so hard for you to be honest with me?"

Silence pervaded the air, and Slaine sighed again, straightened, and released his grip. Inaho's hands fell back to his sides, where they trembled from the after effects of an adrenaline rush. "Are you afraid my opinion of you will change?" Slaine asked with a slight tilt of his head, "Because if that's-"

"It's not." And it wasn't. In all honesty, he had no idea why he still kept things to himself. He gathered his scattered thoughts from the recent chaos in his mind, searching for a place to begin, when he found himself saying very simply: "I was originally planning to kill him."

The statement had been perhaps a little too precipitous, but then he had not meant to say it in those words at all. Slaine's mouth hung open from where it had been interrupted, before he blinked and drew it up into a neutral line. It had been enough for Inaho to catch. He wanted to know what kinds of thoughts Slaine was thinking just then, though it should not have come as a surprise, for his own latent blood-lust was something he had never particularly taken measures to hide. As a rule, he was not all that aggressive, but neither was he one for moralizing on the subject. For him it was more a matter of weighing logical feasibility against some rampant wish of hate or justice. In the end, it was all highly personal. Sometimes he wondered how things might have been if he had fired first that day.

"But that would have been too easy for him," he continued more casually, picking up the comb that lay on Slaine's desk. "The main thing was that it if I had made a mistake, you could have ended up back in prison. I couldn't risk that."

"How do you figure that, exactly…" Slaine's brow furrowed as he looked up quizzically. But Inaho had walked away a bit to retrieve a shirt from a drawer.

"Because you can't stay here if I'm in prison," he explained.

It had seemed obvious to him. There would be no point in making the world safe for Slaine if it only landed them both behind bars. Even if Slaine could stay with Yuki alone, which was a possibility with the right negotiations and transferals, he imagined she would not adjust well to her brother being a convicted murderer. He had caused her enough pain and worry as it was. Not that he expected to get caught, if he had determined to go through with it.

Obvious or not, Slaine's expression was decidedly surprised. " _That_  was your hesitation?!" he exclaimed.

Inaho set the comb down on the bed, and put the shirt over Slaine's head. "You don't think it's a good reason?"

"That's not it!" Slaine huffed from within the shirt. He swatted away the hands that were preparing to help him on with it, obviously not pleased with the excessive aid. By the time he had pulled it on Inaho had climbed around and settled behind him on the bed.

Starting from the crown of his head, Inaho gingerly ran the comb through Slaine's tangled, damp hair. "If you were expecting me to say 'I didn't kill him because that would be wrong', I'm sorry to disappoint you. I already told you that much last summer. Though if it came down to it, I don't know if I could have done it. I've never actually..." He stopped, not wishing to sound self-righteous, because he truly believed he was no better a person than Slaine. Still, he had only killed people via kataphrakts, never up close. In fact, he had never even laid eyes on most of the people he'd fought in the war.

"Good," said Slaine, almost gently. "You don't need to ever do that, especially not for me. But really, what did you  _actually_  do?" he added in a lighter tone.

Inaho had almost forgotten how Slaine used to fuss over him. Maybe he had never stopped. The protective spirit just now gave him mixed feelings, and he might have smiled if not for the ' _especially not for me'_  bit. That was all wrong.  _Especially_ _for you…_  he corrected mentally, and then aloud, "If he couldn't be held accountable for hurting you, there just needed to be a crime that would stand in court."

"So you... framed him?!" Slaine turned sharply to look at him, and promptly winced with the movement. Twisting put painful pressure on his still-healing ribs, two of which had been partially shattered by the bullet and were taking their time with repairing themselves fully.

Inaho straightened him gently by the shoulders. "No, I dug up the truth," he answered, "I had _planned_  to frame him, but then I didn't need to. Turns out he's criminal enough on his own. But he's not all that intelligent really, just driven and full of grudges. He leaves trails everywhere, using his position as a cover. It wasn't very difficult to connect enough dots to put him away. With an actual crime now, he'll not be getting out any time soon at least."

He had long since finished with Slaine's hair, which the latter was perfectly capable of combing on his own, but seeing the relaxed shoulders gently rising and falling with comfortable breaths, Inaho continued anyway. If he stopped, Slaine would probably want to lie down, and that was not good for him. He had already been laying down for most of the day.

"I wonder why he did it, though," Slaine wondered in languid syllables, drowsiness creeping over him.

"The same reason he tried to kill you. Revenge. The war impacted him badly, but many years before that, his wife was killed in a car accident. The man he killed was the one driving the car that hit her. But the jail term for involuntary manslaughter isn't all that long. I suppose he didn't agree with that, and decided to exact justice himself. It's not too hard to kill someone under the guise of battle, but it's such a good cover that people are often careless when trying to pull it off. Once it's actually investigated, it's likely there's plenty of evidence there. But then, I guess you're already familiar with all that..."

"Maybe," Slaine said indifferently, his shoulders tensing slightly.

He could see in the reflection of the window that Slaine's expression had gone from relaxed to listless. Inaho let his hands fall to his lap. Had he misstepped again? "Well, he  _is_  being remembered as a hero, while you carry his crimes, so I suppose it's only fair that you got away with that, at least," he offered. This only produced an even darker expression on Slaine's face. He would probably never understand Slaine's feelings towards the late Count Saazbaum, but he was aware that it was complicated. Was it impolite to talk about it, even as friends? Inaho tried to think of how he could change the subject, but he would probably only say something worse on accident.

" _Got away with_ , you say," Slaine spoke suddenly. "I don't really care whether I did or not. It was something I needed to do, that's all."

"Right... well..."

Slaine sighed a bit and scooted around to face him. And then he smiled. It was bright, but Inaho knew it was fake. "You really worry too much these days," said Slaine softly, "I'm not made of glass."

Again he had said or done the wrong thing, somehow. Too much, too little - he had never cared this much about getting it right. By the time an uncertain "sorry" left his lips, Slaine had crawled to the head of the bed and gotten under the blanket. Seeing he was no longer needed, and that their conversation was concluded, Inaho stood up and made for the door. His hand lingered on the light switch. It had been so long since he had felt so completely comfortable in Slaine's presence. The constant back and forth between tenuous neutral and strong aversion were wearying to deal with on a daily basis, but they were easing away, gradually. Exposure really did help. It was a shame to cut this short, but it was late and, if they weren't going to talk, he had no reason to stay. He had learned to deal with sleep on his own by now. He turned out the light and stepped out into the hall, and before closing the door behind him, he looked back at the face that was already tranquil in sleep.

"Goodnight, Slaine."


	16. Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the excessively long wait (I was distracted by pirates I am so sorry), and also for being such a massive liar about the number of chapters - this is NOT the final chapter. It is not even the second to last chapter... I, uh, gravely miscalculated how much I had left to write (though it’s more along the lines of me losing any ability to write concise and relevant dialogue for this fic). In any case, I hope you enjoy this long overdue update! :3

The mornings were cold, and Slaine was thankful for the added blankets Inaho had piled over him the night before. He curled up inside his nest with a book, grateful that he had nowhere to be. It was difficult to manage a position in which the book and his face were out, while his hands and body were in, without a draft blowing under, but after some time and patience he was able to make it work. Just as he was determining how to turn the page without having to move, he heard the door open.

"Bonjour," Slaine greeted without averting his eyes from the text. Inaho paused in his step, and Slaine then glanced up to see a slightly questioning eye peering down at him. "It means goo-"

"I know what it means," Inaho interrupted, "Are you learning French?" He set a breakfast tray down on the desk.

"You don't think it a good use of time?" It wasn't as though he could actually speak it with anyone, and the pronunciation was already stumping him with no audio to listen to. Maybe he could have Inaho get recordings for him.

"I suppose knowing more languages would expand your selection of literature," replied Inaho, skipping over the more obvious response of ' _you're practically made of time, how you use it is entirely up to you_.' Instead he asked, "Is this your third?"

"Fifth, actually. Or thereabouts." Slaine shook his head at the offered food. He wasn't ready to emerge just yet.

"Seriously?"

"I traveled a lot with my father as a child," he explained dismissively, "kids absorb that kind of thing, I guess I sort of picked them up. Though I've probably forgotten a lot - there's not exactly much use for Swedish on Mars. Do you think I should have gone with Arabic or Chinese instead?"

"It depends on what you're interested in reading. Or writing. Have you thought of writing?" Inaho tugged at the blanket, a plate in his other hand.

Slaine clutched the blanket tighter. "What would I write?"

"An autobiography."

He could not quite tell whether Inaho was serious or not. "I find it hard to imagine that anyone would be interested in reading  _that_ ," he reasoned, at last relinquishing his hold on the blanket and accepting the breakfast, since Inaho looked about ready to force-feed him.

"Well, it would probably be used in history classes." Inaho sat down on the edge of the bed. "They'd pick you apart like some fictional character for about a week, perhaps, and then write counterfactual essays on the various events of your life and leadership. Though they'll probably be doing that anyway, with false information, because obviously you can't actually publish an autobiography."

"Good. I've tormented enough people without adding stressed students to the list." He was done tampering with politics and public opinion, anyway. The memory of Slaine Troyard was already set in stone, quite literally, though he often wondered if they had truly bothered giving him a grave. "But I have to say," he added as a thought struck him, "a fictional work might be interesting. Maybe if I changed the genre..."

"To what, exactly?"

He thought for a moment. "Comedy? Or romance..."

It had been months since he'd last witnessed Inaho laugh. He had almost forgotten what it sounded like.

Quiet, and genuine, like everything with Inaho. " _Your_  life as a romantic comedy?!"

"It could work!" Slaine defended. "A teenage boy moves to a new city, only to be orphaned shortly after. He meets a popular rich girl at school, who befriends him because she feels bad for him, but in the end he gets bullied for it. Really, she is secretly in love with a boy from another school, Kaizoku Naho, who is talented at literally everything and clearly the better-"

"Okay hold on, who said-"

"This is a work of  _fiction_  Inaho,  _fiction._  In the end," he continued, "the main character is expelled for cheating abominably and physically and psychologically destroying other top students in a desperate and ill-fated attempt to get admitted the same college as the girl he loves."

"That's not comedy, that's satire..."

"Satire can be comedic. Besides, the true comedy is when Kaizoku Naho gets rejected by the girl after graduation, perhaps because of the black eye the main character gave him, but more likely due to his lacking personality and utterly boring lifestyle. The girl switches universities at the last minute in pursuit of a mysterious third boy who has been casually stalking her for the past ten years and was clever enough to wait until she discovered the true extent of the main character's obsessive depravity to catch her heart in the depths of grief."

Inaho gave him a blank look. "This is not romantic comedy..."

"My point is, this would be far more interesting than the true story, which no one would voluntarily read."

"I would," he stated firmly, as if that even mattered.

"You just want to read the parts about you," Slaine retorted through a mouthful of toast. Which was hardly toasted and heavily buttered, since Inaho believed fine crumbs would be inhaled and at the same time was trying to fatten him as quickly as possible. Such scrupulous measures were often at the unfortunate expense of both texture and flavor, but Slaine had long ago learnt to down nearly anything, and at this point in his life soggy, greasy toast did not even merit comment. Seeing the beginnings of a disapproving look in the other's eye for talking with his mouth full just now, Slaine made sure to swallow before casually returning to the original discussion, "Out of curiosity, how many languages do you know?"

"Three," replied Inaho without pause, "I don't really have much use for anything besides Japanese and English, though it would be nice to understand what people say about me behind my back at UFE meetings." He poured a generous quantity of milk into Slaine's decaf coffee, and the latter quietly resigned himself to drinking it lukewarm.

"What's the third?" Slaine asked, suppressing the innate urge to gloat over his superior linguistic knowledge.

"Latin."

His face fell. "Figures you'd know a dead language."

"I needed the course credit," Inaho shrugged, "and it was actually fun."

"Fun?!"

"Maybe satisfying is a better word. Anyway, are you ready for your PT?" he asked as Slaine finished the last of his breakfast, sans the cold coffee.

Slaine leaned his head back and let his hand fall to his side. "... I guess," he resigned himself.

"It's not like I enjoy this any more than you do."

There was nothing he could say to that. Inaho made a surprisingly empathetic therapist, no doubt because of the months he had spent in rehab himself. "Did you have to do these?" Slaine asked, completing the last repetition of a stretching set as Inaho sat at the end of the bed flipping through a small stack of stapled papers.

Inaho nodded and carefully dog-eared a page. "Ten of these next," he instructed, displaying it for Slaine to see, "Hold each for fifteen seconds. Go at your own pace and, seriously, tell me if it hurts. Don't try to tough it out, you could be damaging something."

Apparently he had leveled up somehow, because the page he was looking at was entirely new to him. He stared at the little figure drawings and arrows, attempting to decipher what they were trying to illustrate. They were just as incomprehensible as the written instructions beneath them. As he was staring at the page, out of the corner of his eye he saw Inaho move over to sit next to him.

"Like this," said Inaho, taking the papers from him, tossing them aside, and then showing Slaine the intended motion by doing it for him once. "Extend them like that, five ti-" Inaho suddenly released Slaine's arm. "That hurt?"

Slaine wondered how on earth Inaho had perceived it, when he had not made any sound or movement. He shook his head once. "Not too much. It just surprised me." It had actually hurt a lot, but there was no reason to say that if Inaho was going to drop the exercise from his regimen anyway.

"I guess this does put pressure on your ribs. Sorry, I should have anticipated that. Do you want to try walking a little instead, or should we quit for now and pick this up later?"

Slaine opted for the walk. Unfortunately, the physical therapy and diet were working much faster than his lung restoration, and thus walking still winded him even with the improvements to his overall health. But the only way through it was to press through it. He did not want to feel this way forever.

"By the way," Inaho began as they exited Slaine's room, going at a slow, steady pace, "when you're feeling up for it, I'd like to have you meet Inko."

"What?!" Slaine puffed, stopping short.

Unperturbed, Inaho continued, "If you're going to be living here for the rest of your life, she's someone who should know about it. I've already kept you a secret from her for too long."

Slaine stared down at the carpet. Inaho had a point, but it made him no less dubious of the idea. "Have... have you told her yet?"

"No, not yet. I would tell her before she comes, though, so she'd be expecting you. Is it alright with you?"

They began walking again, making their way round the corner into Inaho's bedroom. Slaine sat down on the bed. "Would it," he paused to catch his breath, "matter if I said no?"

He half expected a shake of the head. It was the proper response - he had no right to a choice in this, when he had intruded on Inaho's life enough as it was. Yet when he raised his eyes, he was met only with a brief nod. "It would. You probably didn't know this, but she was the one who found me that day. So, it would make a difference. Are you uncomfortable with it?"

Yes. The thought of facing Inaho's childhood friend, the cute girl in the pictures whose kind eyes he had stung with countless tears, was more terrifying than it ought to be to him. But whether or not he was comfortable was irrelevant. He  _shouldn't_  be comfortable. Slaine turned his gaze to the window and the cold gray sky beyond. "No. Go ahead."

* * *

The day arrived sooner than he expected, as apparently there was a short break around the new year and Inko would be preparing for exams soon. Slaine sat nervously at the kitchen table, wondering with some measure of desperation if this was really okay. The fewer people involved with him, the better. Though perhaps he was using that as an excuse to justify having second thoughts. He jumped slightly as the doorbell rang.

"I'll get it…" offered Yuki, halfway to the door already.

He had faced so many more daunting things in his life, and now he wanted to hide under the kitchen table like a child. Perhaps it was because this was so important that he was afraid of the outcome. He wanted her to accept him, because that would make less trouble for Inaho who was caught in the middle. Yet at the same time that was far too much to ask of her. If she wanted to hate him, she had the right. He tried to remind himself that his first impression had already been made, and it was likely impossible to replace it with anything worse at this point.

Suddenly she was standing there in the kitchen, looking right at him, and he stood up swiftly, as if driven by some dormant habit of respect. It was a little too fast, and he felt the blood begin to drain from his face. He swayed for a moment, ears ringing and vision tunneling before going dark completely.

* * *

Several seconds passed before his eyes, barely open, focused on the face looking down at him. Lips pressed in a light frown, eyebrows softly knit with concern. Slaine was lying on his back on the couch, and Inaho was kneeling on the floor beside him, watching him intently. Upon seeing signs of wakefulness, Inaho exhaled, as though he had been holding his breath, and sat back on his heels.

"Are you alright?" he questioned, "how does your head feel?"

Slaine reached up and touched the side of his head, only then realizing that it did indeed hurt. "Did I…?"

"You passed out and hit the floor. Are you in any pain?"

Slaine shook his head once and tried to sit up, but Inaho stopped him. "You should probably lie down a bit longer. I'll get you something to eat."

Of course, more food. When Inaho had disappeared into the adjoining room, Slaine suddenly found himself in the midst of three women. They had likely been there the whole time.

"Well that was graceful," Rayet remarked, breaking the silence first. He had not even noticed her presence earlier. Did she arrive with Inko? For once, her sarcasm was appreciated.

He smiled somewhat sheepishly. Not knowing what else to say, he muttered a quiet, "Sorry…"

"Inaho's the one who needs the apology, I think he may have wet his pants."

The comment elicited a red-faced "Rayet!" from Inko, who looked especially on edge.

"You scared us there for a minute," Yuki added, "you've got to be careful, okay?" He nodded, and she smiled. "Good! Ah I just remembered... Rayet, could you help me with something for a minute?"

Rayet gave her a suspicious look, but followed Yuki anyway. It was not very hard to guess what she was doing, but Slaine would not bother trying to stop her. He only hoped Inaho would come back soon.


	17. Terran

This scenario was oddly similar to his first meeting with Yuki. He was lying on the couch again, the same clock ticked on in endless monotony, chipping away the silence by seconds and minutes. The primary differences were that Inko's eyes were fixed on the coffee table, rather than him, and that she was not pointing a gun at him. The memory of that day almost made him laugh. Instead, he turned his attention to what he should say right now.

"Are you," her voice surprised him, "the reason he dropped out of school…?"

Inaho hadn't dropped out. It was just the one semester, right? But that wasn't her question. "I wasn't the reason, but it was my fault," he answered, truthful yet vague. Semantics were probably not the best approach if he desired some kind of understanding with her, but he didn't want to compromise Inaho's privacy either. If she was asking him, Inaho must not have told her much, if anything, about his situation.

"Ah," she mouthed, her gaze still downcast, and by the way her expression kept changing and her hands fiddled distractedly with the hem of her sweater, she seemed to be thinking over many things at once. "I can't believe  _Rayet_  is so relaxed about this," she laughed, a faintly bitter edge to her voice.

Not what he had expected, but perhaps this was his chance. "She wasn't at first," he informed her, "but it doesn't really matter what everyone else thinks. You can hate me if you want." Too blunt, perhaps, but her reaction would let him navigate this more effectively. Thus far all her eyes held was apprehension, uncertainty, and confusion - a far cry from hate.

She shifted her feet, pulling mercilessly at a loose thread dangling from one sleeve. "I… can't really say that, I don't even know you. But… but if they can find a reason… then I…" she stopped and shook her head, "I'm sorry, I just don't really get this at all. I thought you were... you know..."

 _Dead?_  He dropped his own gaze this time. She was right. This absolutely made no sense. And not long ago he had acted like a child and practically thrown a tantrum when threatened with losing this. Seeing a fresh reminder of his past, of the reason he was dead to the vast majority of humanity, of why he belonged behind bars for the rest of his days - it made him ashamed of ever thinking that he should receive this lenience simply because Inaho had promised it to him on a misguided whim. It was unjust. Unfair. If he and this girl had met face-to-face during the war, surely she would have shot him. He raised his eyes. She looked like she wanted very much to leave the room. Perhaps this was a bad idea, after all. "Do you wish he hadn't told you?" he asked, and then wished he had not.

"No," she answered quickly, "Actually I... was thinking that I wish he'd told me sooner. Did he think I wouldn't..." she trailed off.

From the dejected look on her face, it seemed she had the wrong idea about this. Slaine debated whether he should explain that the reason Inaho kept her in the dark was not because she was untrustworthy or irrelevant, but rather because she was very important to him, or if meddling in matters between these two would only cause trouble. He didn't know Inko well enough to decide. The half-formed sentence he was about to stumble through died before ever reaching his lips, as just then Inaho returned with a plate of sandwiches.

"Sorry, I didn't realize Yuki-nee was going to do that," he apologized, casting a scrutinous glance at each of them, "She meant well but-"

"I know," said Slaine and Inko in unison.

Inaho looked from one to the other in mild surprise. "Anyway," he continued, setting down the plate, "there's a bit of a problem. Apparently the weather is going to be pretty bad tonight. Inko, you and Rayet should head home soon."

"But we just got here!" she protested, to Slaine's amazement. This was a perfectly valid and tactful way for her to bolt, but she was pushing to stay. Then again, she hadn't seen Inaho in a long time, and had just learnt that the person who shot him in the face was now sleeping in his spare bedroom. Perhaps there were incentives to stay.

"Nao-kun," said Yuki as she came into the room again, a very bored-looking Rayet at her heels, "it looks like the storm's already started. Maybe they should stay here until it's over? Otherwise they'll just get caught up in it."

"True. We're not really set up for overnight company, though…"

Yuki waved her hand dismissively. "Sure we are! The ladies can have your bed, and you can sleep on the couch."

"But-"

"I'm excited," she beamed, "this'll be great! It's been awhile since we've done something fun."

Slaine watched Inaho's shoulders slump before he trudged off to the kitchen again, presumably to start preparing a dinner for five. He noticed Inko slip out, as well.

* * *

He had been anxious about Inko and Slaine meeting, but so far they both seemed to be alright. Whatever it was they had said to one another in his absence, it must have gone reasonably well, or hadn't gone badly at least. Inko was quieter than usual, which was to be expected, and Slaine was more sociable than usual, which was unexpected. Yet at the same time, he seemed a little tense, almost skittish. It was possible his demeanor was a front, and if it was, Inaho had a feeling it was meant to set him at ease. This kind of casual socializing could not have been something Slaine was used to. Even if Martian young people hung out together in their leisure time in the same way that Terrans did, which he doubted, Slaine would not have been part of that. He had grown up ignored, isolated, and then forced to survive in a harsh, cutthroat environment. At some point, adaptability had become Slaine's lifeline. Still, Inaho hoped this was, or would become, a genuinely relaxing evening for him. There were four people present who did not in any way seek to use or abuse or manipulate him. Right now Slaine was just another twenty year old Terran.

As for Inaho, it had been a while since he'd relaxed with friends like this. The war had torn through the days that should have been filled with holiday parties and after school karaoke and dumb sleepover games on school trips. And then they had all been so busy afterwards. It was as though they had completely skipped over their teen years. He sunk back in the couch cushions. It would be nice if things stayed this way. Slaine could finally be happy. His sister could relax, too. The only problem left was him.

The peacefulness lately almost made him feel worse than ever. It made no sense, but he could not escape the thought that this was somehow wrong. He  _should_  be struggling.  _They_  had struggled, they had fought, they had hurt, they had died. And he was fine, unscathed. Against all odds, he was sitting in his living room playing cards with his friends and family. It wasn't exactly guilt for anything he had done - he knew there were things he could not have prevented, rationally he knew that - but his logic fell daily to this thing that was determined to control him. Normalcy felt so out of place now, that he almost wished something would happen to make things go back to what he had become so used to. He half expected something to happen, and he'd probably be unprepared for it again. Settling down, not fixing or fighting or figuring something out felt strange. It also gave him more time to sit and think about everything, to reason it out in his head and then forget rationality as that small voice, always there in the back of his mind, reminded him of every time he'd ever failed someone. How he'd already served, in whatever poor capacity he had been able, any purpose his life could possibly hold, and there was nothing left now but an endless blank before him. Mistakes unwritten, a vast unknown containing the unforgiving dates that marked the inevitable deaths of everyone he loved, and then that terrifying abyss that was solitude. The more he thought, the more he wanted to escape before anything went downhill again. Before he could mess up what they had.

The thoughts bothered him. Scared him, even. His mind had always been his safe-haven, a place to withdraw and be at peace, but now it was his worst enemy. Was he getting worse? If not for Slaine and Yuki, their warm daily presence, their smiling faces, their encouraging words-

"Nao-kun?"

He blinked the room into focus and looked in the direction of his sister.

"Nao-kun! Don't sleep in the middle of the game!" remonstrated Yuki, though her face plainly asked  _'are you okay?'_ She pointed to the cards he was holding, "It's your turn."

"Oh… sorry…" he glanced at his hand. They were all equally as useless, and so he selected one at random and set it on the deck in the middle.

"I can't believe you're actually  _this_  bad at something," Slaine commented as he laid down his last card, effectively winning the match.

Inaho was about to defend himself with some insensitive comment, when he noticed Inko smile and laugh quietly to herself.

"How about a movie?" suggested Yuki while Rayet gathered up the playing cards.

He had not even voiced his opinion before they had already decided on which film, and so he surrendered himself to two hours of some poorly researched action flick with bad effects and an unlikely romance. About a third of the way through, Slaine drifted asleep, swaddled in a throw blanket and leaning heavily on him. Fifteen minutes later he fell over into Inaho's lap and curled up there, out cold and blissfully oblivious to the fact that he was not in bed and there were other people around snatching glances at him. ' _At least he's comfortable with them,'_  Inaho thought to himself, his attention more often on Slaine than on the TV screen. At some point he also dozed off, and only woke to Yuki gently shaking his shoulder and telling him that the movie was over, and that the girls had already headed to bed. He nodded and wormed his way out from under Slaine. Waking him would be pointless, so Inaho rose groggily to his feet and carried the softly snoring bundle upstairs to bed.

* * *

Slaine woke slowly as he felt himself being moved and set down somewhere.

"You could have woken me," he murmured. Though in truth he was glad Inaho had not. He was too comfortable and sleepy to face his most recent nemesis- the stairs.

Inaho paused in his struggle with the bed linens. "There was no reason to."

Except that he also looked very tired. It was a bit of a stressful day for both of them, though overall it had gone comparatively well. Slaine's eyes were drifting closed again when he felt the bed move. "What are you doing..." he asked drowsily, realizing that Inaho was not going to return to the couch downstairs per Yuki's plan, but instead was climbing right into bed with him. Slaine shook his head. "This bed is way too small."

Undeterred, Inaho poked lightly at his side. "It isn't, just move over a little."

"There's no room..." he protested again, though with less conviction than before. He was still half-asleep.

"It's cold downstairs."

Slaine muttered to himself as he grudgingly rolled to his side and made space for the intruder. He was about offer to sleep on the couch instead, if Inaho didn't want to, when an arm curled around him and he felt warmth against his back. He squirmed a bit in a half-hearted attempt to extricate himself - they should at least go get another pillow.

Inaho drew back slightly. "Are you uncomfortable?"

"What?"

"You're fidgeting," he elaborated, "I thought maybe something hurt. Is your chest bothering you? I can go downstairs if this-"

"Ah, no. You can stay, but… why are you holding onto me?"

"I'd probably fall out if I let go," was Inaho's simple response.

 _I told, you there's no room!_ "Oh. Are you sure you'll be alright? You know... here..." The thought suddenly occurred to him that Inaho seemed unusually comfortable around him the past few days. Was it improvement? Or a mask…

"Slaine, I'm fine."

Slaine frowned. " _You're_  the one who's fidgeting… will you be able to sleep?" The last thing he wanted was to trigger some horrible nightmare or something. Not to mention what could happen to him should Inaho go for the strangle hold in his sleep again, like the last time they had shared a bed.

"Don't worry about it. Anyway, I…" Inaho paused, "don't want to be alone."

Ah, there it was. "Did something happen?"

"Nothing new."

Now fully awake, Slaine watched the shadows of barren tree branches dance and shudder across the drawn curtains, cast by a distant street lamp. The room was quiet, except for their breathing, and the gentle rustle of fabric, and the snowflakes that the wind drove softly against the windowpanes. "Are you really alright?" he asked once more.

"Yes."

Slaine closed his eyes and waited for the truth. And then Inaho's arm tightened around him and a face was buried between his shoulders. "No..." came a muffled confession, "I'm so tired. I'm really tired..."

Letting out a breath, Slaine took Inaho's hand in both his own. "I know."

"I want this to be over, and honestly I don't care how."

Well, this was familiar. And troubling. "Unfortunately, I understand that feeling pretty well," he answered quietly, "So believe me when I say it's worth fighting, and waiting, for the better outcome."

Inaho shifted. "I guess with everything going well lately, I expected too much. Being near you is the only part that's seemed to have improved. Thank goodness..." Through the fabric of his shirt, Slaine felt fingers lightly trace the small round scar the bullet had left behind. "Do you ever think about what would have happened if I hadn't gone to my exam that day? That we could have avoided all this if I'd rescheduled like you asked, maybe..."

"No, not really. I try not to think about what-ifs and could-have-beens anymore. That kind of mindset will just drag you down."

"Yeah. You're right... thank you."

Slaine rolled over to face him. "For what?"

"For being here."

He felt himself smiling just a little, and pulled the blanket up further, snuggling down into the warmth and thinking this wasn't too small for them at all. It would be nice if he had more than a corner of his pillow, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> writing Inko is surprisingly challenging ;~;


	18. Troyard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As per usual, I'm very sorry for the extensive delay. I fought with this chapter for a very long time, because none of the endings I wrote felt… right? Anyway, out of everything, this was the most satisfying to me. I hope you'll agree!
> 
> (P.S. heads up that this chapter is ~6k)

Slaine had been home for over two weeks now, and with every passing day he felt himself growing a little stronger. This new year would hopefully bring them all good fortune, though he was not about to assume anything. Still, he had decided to hope for the best, and accept the worst if it came down to it.

This particular morning had been a rather strange one. After breakfast, Inaho had completely forgotten about the usual therapy routine, and then would not let him leave the room, insisting that he read or do something leisurely of that nature. Not that he was complaining, but it was… strange.

"What are you staring at?" Slaine glanced up from his book, noticing from the corner of his eye that the other had been looking at him for some time now.

Inaho put down his tablet and sat up. "Your hair. Maybe I should cut it, it's getting a little…"

"Out of hand?" Slaine finished unceremoniously, and gathered some with his fingers, holding it up before his eyes for closer inspection.

"I was going to say 'long,' but-"

"But you were thinking something like 'unkempt', weren't you?" Slaine looked at him sidelong and smiled a bit. He hardly bothered with his hair these days, and he was aware that it often looked fairly wild. That is, until Inaho couldn't take it anymore, and combed it out and tied it back for him, which may not have begun as Slaine's goal, but certainly ended up as such.

"I was not," Inaho denied. He crawled off the bed and opened a drawer, presumably in search of a pair of scissors, because there was never a better time than the present to do these things, apparently. "Honestly I'm surprised they didn't lop it all off at the prison, generally hair is just in the way with critical patients."

Slaine shrugged. It had been past his shoulders for so long now that he hardly remembered what it looked like short. Since coming to the Kaizuka's, Inaho had seemed reluctant to cut it for whatever reason. Perhaps he lacked the confidence and didn't want to admit it...

"Are you sure you know how to cut my hair?" Slaine queried one last time as Inaho sat him down on a stool in the bathroom.

"No, but you've got plenty to work with if anything goes wrong."

Slaine's shoulders slumped. So much for not admitting it. If Inaho was openly uncertain, he was done for. "Do your best…" he said resignedly.

At least Inaho was precise enough to stay clear of his ears and eyes. He could still remember the dreaded haircuts he received amongst the Martians - a comb yanking at his scalp, scissors quickly shearing through both hair and anything else that happened to be in the way, which on several occasions nearly included his eyes, into which the clippings inevitably fell regardless - the moment he had seized some measure of status, he had eliminated haircuts altogether, though he might have entrusted the task to Harklight if it had seemed important enough. In prison he'd only received one, which while slightly better in terms of discomfort, was visually downright awful. Not that he'd had anyone to impress in solitary confinement.

Slaine found himself closing his eyes contentedly as Inaho gently untangled his hair and combed it out. "So… has she said anything to you?" he asked casually, foregoing the usual beat around the bush while he had a captive audience, sans eye-contact, and heading straight for the question that had been sitting in his mind for several days now.

Inaho set down the comb and took up the scissors. "You mean Inko? About you?" there was a short pause before he continued, "Not really. She probably needs some time to process. You're not quite what people expect. Anyone would likely expect you'd appear-"

"Less pathetic?"

"More dangerous," Inaho corrected, placing his hands on either side of Slaine's head and gently turning him to face forward, "but if you want to put it that way, yes."

Slaine sighed inwardly. There was nothing quite like the calm, reasonable validation of a self-depreciating comment. If his intent had been to provoke assurance or flattery, he would never find success with Inaho, not that way at least, though truthfully he found that cruel honesty reassuring in and of itself. He might have uttered a sarcastic "thanks" in response, but Inaho was already speaking again.

"In any case," scissors snipped methodically somewhere to the left of his ear, "you've been interrupting me a lot today."

"It's because you're being weird today," he retorted, aware that his reasoning was vaguely relevant at best, but continuing with it anyway, "Why can't I go downstairs?"

The pause was a little longer than necessary. "You should take a break and rest sometimes. Besides, there's better lighting up here for cutting your hair."

Avoidance again. But that was true, they almost never opened the downstairs curtains, in case any prying eyes took notice of Slaine. Yet there was also the fact that aside from brief, light exercise, he did nothing but rest these days… Inaho would not even let him help with the chores yet, since dust and cleaning chemicals would aggravate his lungs. So why the sudden forced total relaxation…?

"Done." Inaho brushed the bits of hair from his shoulders and neck, and then rummaged in a drawer for a hand mirror.

Slaine held it up to assess the damage, ignoring the gaunt visage that stared back at him and trying to focus instead on the soft fringe that now framed his face. "Ah…" he ran his fingers through it ,"you left quite a bit of length, after all." Even so, it was off his shoulders and felt lighter and healthier.

"It's better if you're not extremely recognizable," Inaho dismissed as he put away the comb.

Slaine turned his head from one side to the other, examining Inaho's handiwork. "It looks good. Thanks."

"Mhm. Well, I'm going to go make lunch."

"I'll come with you."

"Actually…" Inaho hesitated, as though he was searching for words, and then glanced down at his phone.

"Inaho, I just want to stretch my legs a bit. Believe it or not, light exercise actually does make me feel better overall."

Inaho gave him a long look, and then nodded. "Alright."

Usually when dealing with the stairs, Inaho was right there to make sure he didn't fall. Today, he went on ahead without a word, vanishing around the corner and leaving Slaine by himself three steps from the top.

"Inaho?" Slaine called after him, clutching the rail. "Inaho…?" Receiving no response yet again, he carefully began hobbling the rest of the way on his own. "For the love of…" he wheezed, pausing on each step to catch his breath and nearly tumbling to his death twice.

He was not halfway down when Inaho appeared again. "Someone was at the door," he explained briefly, taking Slaine's elbow and helping him with the remaining steps.

"Oh? I didn't hear anything. Who was it?"

"Just the neighbor."

Slaine stopped for a moment to rest on the landing. "The neighbor?!" During his entire stay at the Kaizuka's, he had not once heard of the neighbors actually interacting with the siblings, at least not coming to the door. "What did they want?"

"Eggs, for their…" Inaho paused, and cleared his throat, "It doesn't really matter. You're asking a lot of questions today. What do you want for lunch?"

Ignoring the distinct feeling that he was being enormously and brazenly deceived, for reasons he could not fathom, Slaine put some consideration into their forthcoming meal. "Anything you make is fine," he answered at last, realizing that he didn't particularly care so long as it was not soggy toast again. And apparently Inaho had just given their eggs to the neighbor, so there was no danger of that particular nutriment appearing on his plate today.

Upon entering the kitchen, Slaine was met with the full explanation for that morning's strangeness. Standing in the middle of the room was Yuki, wearing perhaps the brightest smile he'd ever seen, and in her hands was a plate containing a small, round, chocolate cake, aglow with blue and white candles. Before he could say a word, the two siblings wished him a very warm 'happy birthday' and Yuki urged him to make a wish and blow out the candles. Slaine simply stared at them in bewildered, overwhelmed silence.

"You did get the correct date, right Nao-kun…?" Yuki whispered anxiously to her brother.

"Of course."

As the shock dissipated and he realized he was not responding properly, Slaine managed a tentative smile. "I'm sorry..." he began hesitantly, "you just really surprised me." He then closed his eyes, per Yuki's eager instructions, and as if to make up for twenty years of wasted birthday wishes, he poured everything into this one. A simple, selfish wish, that this spell he was living under would never break.

While Inaho helped him to his chair, Yuki set the cake on the table. "We were going to wait until tonight," she explained, "but Nao-kun suggested now might be a better time, since you were starting to catch on."

"I had no idea, actually. I've not exactly celebrated... this day before, so I didn't consider anything like this." That, and the fact that he'd completely forgotten about it. While not thinking much on it to being with, he'd also done his best to obliterate his birthday from memory in past years, two of which had been spent not only completely alone, but behind bars. He suddenly wondered if Inaho had known this date back then. Not that he would have accepted birthday greetings in those days - he certainly would have thrown any well wishes back in Inaho's face at the time.

"What?!" Yuki fretted, "Oh my god I should have bought a professional one." She regarded the modest, homemade cake with no small amount of disdain in her eyes.

"Yuki-nee, this one is fine."

"It's perfect," Slaine agreed, "Thank you."

In her sheepish excitement, Yuki nearly stabbed a knife into the cake to serve it up when Inaho stopped her. "Lunch first, Yuki-nee."

"Ah, right."

As they ate, Slaine's gaze kept wandering to the cake, which sat temptingly before him at the center of the table. Its fluffy frosting spread carefully in soft scallops, the tall candles set amongst a cluster of little strawberries and whipped cream...

"It's not going anywhere," said Inaho, apparently noticing his distracted gaze, "Eat your lunch."

"Nao-kun, he's turning  _twenty_ -one, not  _one_ ," Yuki reminded with her mouth full, "he can eat cake for lunch if he wants."

"Not in his condition."

Slaine picked up his fork and returned his attention to his plate. "I was just admiring it. It's really nice, Yuki-san."

"Ah, Slaine-kun… I've been meaning to say this for a while - you can just call me Yuki-nee if you like."

"Is that… really alright?" Slaine looked automatically to Inaho, perhaps for some kind of approval, but Inaho was unusually preoccupied with his food.

"Mmm," Inaho pondered aloud right as Slaine was about to politely decline, "I'd adopt you, but you don't have any papers anymore. And I suppose Slaine Kaizuka-Saazbaum-Troyard is a bit of a mouthful..." he added pensively.

Slaine grimaced at the name. "I think I'd just drop the Saazbaum-Troyard," he muttered, whilst processing the first part of what Inaho had just so casually said. Adopt...?

"Aren't those important to you, though?" returned Inaho.

"Nao-kun," Yuki interjected at last, "I think  _I'd_  be the one adopting him, not you. It would be kind of bizarre if  _you_  were his dad. And anyway, when unrelated adults around the same age become family, share a home, and take the other's name, it's usually called marriage, not adoption."

"Aside from the arguably important aspect of romantic and/or sexual interest, that's a valid point," admitted Inaho, apparently unphased by the intended implications of her words or, for that matter, the blatancy of his own, "Though this is all rather immaterial to begin with. Documents have nothing to do with the fundamental constitution of family."

"Ahh, this reminds me..." Yuki said to herself as she pushed back her chair and got up from the table, before vanishing upstairs.

Slaine looked across the table in confusion, but Inaho was absorbed with his plate again, chewing thoughtfully. It was not long, however, before Yuki returned, very obviously hiding something behind her back.

"Here, for you," she smiled, holding out a small wrapped package. "Go on, take it!"

Slaine reached out in amazement. As if the cake wasn't already enough…

"You didn't need to give me anything..."

"I  _wanted_  to. No rejecting allowed!" she declared.

Setting the package in his lap, he simply admired it first. By the way the pretty blue paper was crinkled, and torn a bit at the corners, and taped a little too much on the sides, he knew that she had wrapped it herself. She had also gotten rather carried away with the ribbon, and he fought with it for a good minute and a half, until eventually Inaho brought him a pair of scissors. Then he carefully undid the corners, revealing a box.

"Is this…"

"I thought you might like to take pictures! It's instant, so you don't have to worry about a developer handling the photos if you want to print some."

Slaine thanked her repeatedly, almost confusedly, as he took it out of its package and carefully turned it over in his hands. He had never operated a camera himself, not that he could remember, but it seemed simple enough. A few minutes of fiddling with it, along with some assistance from Yuki and unwarranted advice from Inaho, was enough to get the gist of it. Now to test it out. The perfect victim was sitting right across from him, chewing rice. He lifted the camera, centered and focused, and then snapped his first photo. Inaho was not amused.

"Yuki-nee," Inaho turned to his sister, "I've been wondering, what about our conversation earlier reminded you of this?"

"Oh! I almost forgot. Let's all three take a picture!"

* * *

That evening Yuki treated them to a delicious dinner, which she slaved over for the majority of the afternoon with only minimal mishaps. Slaine had tried to dissuade her from making a big deal of it, but she had insisted, and refused either of the boys' help with preparation, saying they should relax and have fun today. Afterwards, they spent an hour or two lazing about in the living room together, until eventually Slaine went upstairs for his bath. He soaked for an inordinate length of time, eventually emerging from the bathroom wrapped up in a robe, feet tucked in warm slippers, and shuffling his way at a snail's pace to Inaho's room.

"You need to dry your hair better," Inaho chastised the moment he walked through the door, pulling the towel from his shoulders and dropping it over his head. "You'll get sick. Hold on, I'll get the hairdryer."

Inaho had taken to blow-drying his hair every day, because no matter how well Slaine patted with the towel, it was never quite dried to the proper standard. Chills were, in Inaho's estimation, perhaps the most fearsome threat to physical well-being imaginable of those encountered during the course of daily life. Though it was also true that to Inaho, cold in general was a curse he would not even wish upon his enemies. Once Slaine's hair was thoroughly free of any and all dampness, and thus a second onset of pneumonia successfully averted, Inaho wandered in the direction of his closet. He rummaged briefly, nearly vanishing amongst hanging shirts and sweaters, before emerging once more, closing the door, and returning to the bedside.

"Here," he said simply, holding out a small potted plant.

 _... another one?_ Though in truth Slaine would love any number of houseplants. "You kept it in the closet?" he asked in disbelief, completely forgetting to accept the gift properly. Not that it had been presented properly.

"Yuki-nee really wanted today to be a surprise… and you're so nosy, there was nowhere else to put it. Plants don't die in such a short period away from sunlight, it's fine."

Regardless of its recent captivity in the depths of Inaho's closet, this one appeared far less mangled than the one he'd received at the prison. There were no blooms, however. From the leaves, it appeared to be some kind of begonia, but it was difficult to tell. He poked around a bit in the dirt and leaves in search of a label card. And then laughed once aloud when he found it.

"What?" asked Inaho, somewhat mystified.

Slaine lifted the card. "I'm guessing you didn't see this, did you?" It had been buried pretty well in the pot. The flowers pictured were… orange. Very orange.

The way Inaho's expression changed, Slaine almost felt bad for mentioning it. Especially when Inaho reached out to take it back. "Oh. I'll exchange it for another..."

"No!" Slaine held it protectively. "I want this one." It was true. He really didn't care about the color - this was the one Inaho had picked out for him. Probably because it was the greenest, and therefore healthiest, and the pot was sturdy and in good condition. Maybe it had even been on sale. That's why it was the one he wanted, the gift was so very like him. The color was just ironic; it almost made it better.

Inaho seemed to think otherwise, as he reached for the pot once again. "I thought you hated orange."

"I do," Slaine smiled, swatting him away.

Inaho regarded him for a long minute. "You don't make any sense," he announced at last, and then opened a drawer in his desk retrieve something from it. "Anyway, I got this too, from the shrine on New Year's. It's good luck, I suppose." He handed Slaine a small charm.

"You suppose?"

"Well, if you like that sort of thing. Either way, it's well -made and the material is good quality. It should last the year."

"You're so strange."

Inaho's bow furrowed faintly. "I don't need to hear that from someone who's been sniffing a flowerless plant."

Ignoring Inaho's commentary, Slaine breathed in deeply, letting the scent sink in. "It smells like... Earth... it's nice."

"And fertilizer, I assume. Don't inhale too much, it could irritate your lungs."

At last Slaine gave up the plant, in exchange for the second present, and Inaho set it on the desk. Slaine wasn't much for believing in good fortune and divine protection anymore, at least not for himself, but the gift was surprisingly thoughtful for Inaho. Especially since he must have thought ahead and gotten it over a week in advance. Slaine closed it in his palm and smiled. "Thank you."

Inaho nodded vaguely. "How about a game of chess before bed?" he suggested, though he was already retrieving the box without waiting for an answer.

Slaine went ahead and claimed the side of the bed with a wall and pillows so that he could recline comfortably. As Inaho opened the board and placed it between them, Slaine pulled a spare blanket over him and huddled into it. "Are you going to let me win because it's my birthday?" he queried with a skeptical look. After today's events thus far, nothing would surprise him.

Inaho set the pieces out one by one. "If that's what you want…"

"Of course not! I'm going to defeat you fairly. You'd best not even think of going easy on me."

"Likewise..."

Slaine glanced up at the downturned face across from him. They hadn't played much at all since he returned home, perhaps because of the unpleasant memories associated with a particular match in the recent past, but all the same the pastime was a sort of constant between them. It almost felt as though they had been playing chess together long before there was an actual board, with tangible pieces that fit in one's hands, and where the lives at stake were not warm, breathing people. In any case, lately Slaine had won more often than not, but it generally depended on how Inaho's day was going. It seemed there would always be something that put one of them at an advantage. In truth, there was nothing fair between them, there never was. But today, for the first time in long while, Inaho seemed in a frame of mind to prove a formidable opponent once again.

"How about we raise the stakes this time?" Slaine suggested, if only to give himself an extra boost of motivation. "Just to change things up a bit…"

Inaho set the empty box aside. "Raise the stakes? How?"

"Mmm… how about, loser has to fulfill a request for the winner." It was the best he could come up with on the spot.

"Alright, sounds simple enough. Any rules on requests?"

Slaine raised an eyebrow. "Why would we need rules?"

There was a long pause, during which Inaho seemed to be debating whether to say something, until finally he simply nodded. "Right. Let's play."

Slaine was unsure whether he'd just raised the stakes even more by eliminating a mysterious safety net, or if he'd managed to establish some new level of trust between them. Either way, he was suddenly rather less confident than he was a minute before. And with good reason, as despite his best efforts, along with a fair amount of desperation whenever he recalled just how little he actually trusted his friend in these kinds of petty situations, it took Inaho approximately an hour and a half to win the game.

"Uuuugh," Slaine groaned, pressing his fingers between his eyes, "My brain hurts."

"This was your idea," reminded Inaho mercilessly.

"I know. So, what's it going to be?" Not knowing what on earth he was afraid of, because really there should be nothing he was unwilling to oblige (but why did Inaho ask about rules?!) was weirdly unsettling. He tapped his thumbs in agitated anticipation.

Inaho's hand hovered over his pile of captured pieces as he paused to speak. "I request that you make a request."

"What?" Slaine leaned forward reflexively, "Why did you even win then…"

"I promised I wouldn't go easy on you. You set no other rules, so this is allowed."

"True... okay," Slaine relented lamely, and then thought for a bit. He had been so focused on keeping this request from Inaho that hadn't actually considered what kind of thing he would ask for were he to win. "Take me outside tomorrow. I want to see the snow before it's gone."

"No," was Inaho's swift and flat reply. "You can see it from inside."

"It's not the same." Looking out of the window was only slightly better than looking at it in a book. He'd seen and touched snow before, both in his childhood and in more recent, less favorable circumstances, but it had been a while, and he enjoyed it regardless. It was beautiful, and quiet, and melancholy. And though it was also painfully nostalgic, there was something hopeful and pure about it. He was likely thinking too much into it, but now that he'd set is mind on it, he was determined to have it. He settled his chin further into his palms. "You're cheating! You have to-"

"I don't care," Inaho cut him off crisply, "I'm not risking your health over a game. Besides, I won."

"You can't take it back now," Slaine bristled, eyes narrowing, "Just for five minutes…"

"No."

"Sixty seconds."

Inaho closed the chess board with a snap. "If you mean a minute, say a minute. You're only trying make it sound like less time than it is."

"Fine, I'll go on my own then, I don't need your help," Slaine muttered, falling back somewhat dramatically against the headboard.

Inaho looked infuriatingly unperturbed. "Don't be absurd," he said evenly, and rightfully, because Slaine was fully aware that he was, in fact, being absurd. He was in no condition for January weather. Inaho set the chess box on the floor and folded his hands in his lap. "Can I do something else for you?" he asked, looking Slaine squarely in the eye, and for a brief irrational moment Slaine wanted to slap some form of visible emotion onto the other's face with the full force of his right palm. Of course Inaho had seen right through his fumbling bluff, and if not for the sincere care behind his reasoning, Slaine would likely have headed for the door right that moment just to spite him. And, perhaps, to prove to himself that he could still do some things on his own. As much as he craved Inaho's presence, this physical dependence was rapidly getting old.

"No. Forget it." Slaine dragged the blanket over him and pouted out of view. He had been spoiled rotten today, something he did not and would never deserve after the kind of life he'd led before now, no matter what kind of notions the Kaizukas might put in his head about his inherent worth, and he wouldn't let Inaho see his childishness now, even though it was probably very obvious despite, and perhaps because of, his efforts to hide it. The bed moved as Inaho crawled up beside him, and he automatically gripped the blanket tighter, as if he possessed the strength to prevent its being torn away from him.

"Sixty seconds," said Inaho, and Slaine was surprised that the other did not try to pull back the covers, "You should be able to take a few pictures in that time."

Feeling slightly mollified, though still vexed and a bit guilty due to the means through which he'd achieved this victory, if something so obviously remaining on Inaho's terms could be called such, he bent back the blanket a tad and peered out. Inaho's attention seemed occupied with the window - perhaps he was internally lamenting the outside temperature and the effect it would have on both of them tomorrow - and he was sitting on his heels, arms relaxed at his sides. Slaine had once noticed that Inaho seemed rather sensitive in the mid regions, very subtly shying away from any direct contact to his sides and stomach, and now he was sitting exposed and unsuspecting. Before Slaine had properly considered the several possible very bad outcomes of his next actions, he had snaked an arm out from under the blanket and, extending his hand, ran fingers lightly up Inaho's side, right under his shirt. Inaho inhaled sharply and lurched away. But Slaine was not about to stop there, and continued in his pursuit, tickling anywhere he could reach while Inaho writhed and crawled in a weak attempt at escape. It was an unfair match, because Inaho was forced to be cautious and gentle in the midst of his torment - his level of control was admirable - while Slaine could do whatever he pleased with no consequences whatsoever. He hadn't intended to continue quite this far, but he could hardly help himself when Inaho looked so marvelously shocked and desperate, and best of all was making the most frantic noises. Eventually he seemed to have reached the end of his rope and Slaine felt hands clamp onto his waist and hold him tightly as they rolled together, and he was thrown flat on his back. Slaine relinquished his attack as he was pinned to the bed, coughing with his own laughter and wincing at the pressure of Inaho's weight bearing down on his wrists.

"You're... ruthless..." Inaho panted, an incredulous look in his eye.

Slaine responded only with a wicked grin. It had all been supremely satisfying, he would definitely be doing this again. After a long, distrustful stare, Inaho cautiously crawled off of him and Slaine rolled onto his stomach, trying to inconspicuously stabilize himself with deep breaths, but coughing nonetheless. Inaho made no comment on it, though out of the corner of his eye Slaine saw his hand reach out on reflex, and then hover uncertainly over his back as though he couldn't make up his mind whether a firm patting would help or hurt. Eventually he withdrew it, and cleared his throat.

"That was dangerous," he said in a considerably more collected tone, "What if something had happened? I could have hurt you."

"I knew you wouldn't," Slaine lied. Inaho was, as usual, very right. But all's well that ends well - no need to mention the true extent of his recklessness now. "Give me six months - I'll be stronger than you," he added, both to change the subject and because he meant it.

Inaho's eyebrows raised a hair. "Is that a challenge?"

"A heads-up."

Inaho gave a soft "hmph" and leaned back against the wall. A peaceful quiet settled between them, as neither had anything more to say, and both were too relaxed to move from where they were. Some time later, Slaine was preparing to turn over when he felt a hand brush over him and gently press along his shoulders. "You're a little tense, do you want a massage?" asked Inaho, out of the blue.

Taking the abruptness of the offer in stride, Slaine remained in his current position and nodded lazily. "Mhm…" he murmured, already quite comfortable and very open to anything that might make him more so.

* * *

"This will be a little cold," Inaho warned a few minutes later before pouring lotion over him.

Slaine tensed slightly. Frigid was more the right word. He was surprised, however, that Inaho's hands were actually warm for once. Had he warmed them at the sink when he went to get the lotion? Soon the cold sensation was gone, and he relaxed under the soothing circles Inaho was working into his back. After a few minutes, the fingers slowed gradually, at one point grazing so lightly they sent chills across his skin, and began distractedly tracing the map of scars imprinted on him.

Shifting a bit, Slaine glanced back over his shoulder. "You don't need to be so gentle," he said, in hopes of drawing Inaho's attention back to what his hands were doing, and away from where he knew his mind must be going. This was too pleasant a moment for dismal memories and pointless regrets.

"I don't want to hurt you," Inaho replied predictably, snapping back to attention and continuing on as before.

Slaine sighed. "You're fine."

Regardless of his assurance, Inaho proceeded with extreme caution, almost to an annoying degree. He asked every other minute whether he was causing any discomfort, to which Slaine invariably answered no. Soon he was humming contentedly into his pillow. Perhaps if he sounded happy, he thought, Inaho would relax and stop pestering him. Maybe it worked, for he must have fallen asleep at some point, and when he next opened his eyes the light was turned out and Inaho was there with him under the covers, reading on his phone.

"How long was I out?" Slaine yawned. He was so snug and warm, it was no wonder he'd dozed off.

The phone light switched off and Inaho looked over at him. "About an hour."

Ah, not that long. His inadvertent naps were usually much lengthier, and sometimes if it was late enough he simply kept on sleeping right through the night. Inaho, on the other hand, did not seem sleepy at all. "You've been awake this whole time?" he asked with some concern, "Can't sleep?"

"I'm not tired yet. It's still a little early."

Slaine pulled the blanket up to his chin, huddling down into the cozy bed and peering lazily through half-closed eyes at the shadowy figure beside him. The nightlight outlined the slope of Inaho's shoulder and the slight curve of his hip in a soft glow of gold, and cast his hair a cinnamon hue. He looked warm and comfortable and content. In fact, he had been in good spirits since morning. "You seem happy today," said Slaine, "I'm glad."

"I am. It's an important day."

While it was true that he had managed to survive twenty-one years of life, which perhaps for him was something of an accomplishment, he could see no rationale for this much fuss over it. "It's not  _that_  important," he countered vaguely.

"It is."

"It's not."

"It is…" Inaho's soft smile only made Slaine frown suspiciously. His doubts faded, however, when a hand briefly touched his face before dropping back to the mattress. "I'm very glad that you were born, Slaine."

Slaine opened his mouth to respond, but just as soon closed it again. In his attempt to first understand the statement, and then connect it with the one who had said it, his mind got muddled in forming a response and went blank entirely. All that remained were wordless emotions. He, too, was glad that he had been born. He was glad that they were each part of the same universe, existing at the same time… he was grateful for Inaho.

"I just..." Inaho continued, and then hesitated, "I wish you could be free."

Slaine shifted onto one elbow. "What do you mean?" he murmured, leaning over to the one beside him. The one who was fused into his future, carved into his past, here with him right now in this impossible moment. Yes, this was all impossible. It was dangerous, a risk. And though he may never understand it, he would accept it all readily. "Inaho," he smiled, feeling the warmth of a cheek against his own, "I'm already free."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly I can’t believe I’ve been writing this story for over eight months. When I started, 75k words was not at all what I had in mind - but, well, here I am. To all of you who have been following since the beginning, and those who have joined along the way, thank you so, so much! I really couldn’t have done this without you. ;u; Also, a very special thanks to those who have helped me out along the way, especially Ryoku, a dear friend whose continuous support got me through many trials during the writing of this fic. <3
> 
> I hope you enjoyed reading! I keep telling myself I’m done writing for AZ once I finish my current fics, but then I proceed to come up with new ideas, and well… sigh. Looks like I’m here for a while longer.


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